Once Bitten
by Hiza Montmorency
Summary: When assigned to work for the brutal Lord Chillingham, Merlin finds himself forced into a nightmarish situation with almost no way out. Lust, pain, vengeance and family secrets collide as everyone must learn the hard price of love and hate. Merlin/Gwaine
1. Once Bitten

**Title: Once Bitten**

**T for beatings and general darkness.**

**Warning! Here there will be slash! If you don't know what that is, it's "they're more than just friends" of two guys. Don't like, don't read.**

**Don't own Merlin.**

/

Arthur, as a rule, liked people to _knock_ before bloody well entering his rooms. The only person who didn't follow this like every other normal member of Camelot was Merlin, and he knew when Merlin was coming, normally. So when to door flew open with the force of a battering ram, he wasn't very pleased. Rising, he was about to yell when he saw who it was. The anger died in its birth when Gwaine stormed in, pulling Merlin behind him. Merlin had his face buried in his hands, and seemed to be trying to hide from him, cowering behind Gwaine's bulk.

"Show him," Gwaine said roughly, releasing Merlin's arm. The slim man shook his head, and backed up, hands still covering his whole face. "Merlin, I know you don't want to, but he needs to see this." Again, the servant began working his way towards the door, stumbling against a chair.

With a growl, Gwaine slipped over and, wrapping Merlin from behind in his arms, pulled Merlin's hands away from his face. He turned him to face Arthur, almost cradling him but keeping hold of his hands. Ashamed, Merlin turned his head to the side, and struggled weakly in Gwaine's firm but gentle embrace.

The Prince's breath caught and he stalked forward, furious. Gently lifting Merlin's chin so that he was facing him, he studied it. "What happened?" He asked, trying to keep his temper in check as Merlin flinched away, his eyes fearful. He always seemed fragile to start with- like a butterfly in a storm his wings were easily ripped. And now this…

"I fell down, my lord," Merlin choked out, as Gwaine let out a low rumble of anger.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and said softly, "So the stairs split your lip, back handed you, cut your cheek, and blacked your eye, did they?"

Merlin's eyes welled with tears, and he looked away, chewing on his lip. His face was a wreck, his right eye a messy purple, yellow, and green bruise, and the cut on his cheek was shallow but long. His mouth looked bruised as well, with a split on the right side and a hand-shaped bruise was forming on his other cheek.

Gwaine and Arthur exchanged anxious glances over his head, Gwaine tightening his grip on his friend as he treated him like glass.

With a group of visiting nobles in town, all of the servants had been assigned to two people. Merlin had ended up with Lord Aden Chillingham, a man who was, rather unfortunately, important for Uther's happiness. If Arthur had had his way, Merlin would have simply been assigned over to Gwaine, but Uther had put him with Chillingham. And while Arthur might have thrown a few things at Merlin, he'd never actually beaten him- cruelty wasn't in his nature- but this was over the top. Arthur's rage was boiling. There were virtually no laws in place to protect servants, particularly not male ones, and there was no way Chillingham would accept a duel of honor. After all, who would fight for the honor of a lowly servant?

Merlin's tears slowly streaked down his face. "Gwaine…could you let me go? My back-" he cut himself off, inhaling sharply as Arthur's eyes snapped to him.

"Merlin," he said very quietly in his best "I-am-king-thou-shalt-obey" voice, "What's wrong with your back?"

Merlin choked, and looked helplessly up at Gwaine, who loosened his grip reluctantly. Merlin turned and buried his face in Gwaine's shirt, clutching at it and mumbling something incoherent. Arthur looked curiously at Gwaine, whose face had gone distinctly stiff.

"What did he say?"

Gwaine trembled, impotent rage clear in his eyes as he looped his arms gingerly around Merlin.

"He was whipped."

Arthur very calmly turned and counted to ten, closing his eyes and willing the bloodlust away. The sound of Merlin's quiet, shaking breaths were becoming heart wrenching, and if he didn't get himself under control, he knew that Chillingham would be dead before dawn, and at his hands.

/

Gwaine watched as Arthur pulled himself together, getting the fury out of his system. He was grateful for it- Merlin's form was trembling in his arms, and the last thing any of them needed was him to think that Arthur was angry at him. When that happened, Merlin was an apologizing wreck, forever anxious to get Arthur's good side back.

It really wasn't healthy, their relationship, but at this late in the game, there was nothing Gwaine could do but hold the pieces together even when they didn't match.

Once Arthur had gotten himself back to normal, he turned back around and came over, gently resting his hand on Merlin's shoulder. The man flinched, but stilled, peeking out at him.

"Merlin, I'm going to go and get Gaius to come and look at you, alright?"

Instant panic. Gwaine could feel it even before Merlin's hand shot out to grab Arthur's arm.

"No!" Then, more quietly, "Please. Don't leave me. Either of you."

/

It was a long, tiring trip up to Gaius's quarters under normal circumstances, and Merlin was relatively sure he was going to pass out if Arthur insisted that they take the less traversed hallways that wound through the castle. After debating for a few minutes, they (being Arthur and Gwaine, with mostly ignored input from Merlin) decided to take the normal halls, and hope that nobody saw them.

Arthur walked in front, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, radiating fury. He looked terrifyingly powerful when he was angry, and right now the few people who passed them by bowed in respect, eyes following the odd trio as they worked their way towards Gaius. Gwaine was almost holding Merlin upright by now- the pain was making him light headed, and he had developed a tendency to walk into walls when released.

Merlin was fairly certain he had never been in this much pain before. Not even the poison had burned like this, that time so long ago. This felt like he'd be dragged through a pit of knives and then beaten with a club, after having his innards wrapped around a red-hot poker. It was incredibly frustrating, knowing that he could have stopped it, if he'd just had the sense to actually knock the man unconscious- It wasn't as if he couldn't have, after all. Being a being made of magic had its uses. But fear had blinded him to what he could have done, and instead he'd ended up on the floor, pleading like a child for mercy.

He stumbled a bit, and Gwaine caught him before he could fall, a broad arm looping around his waist. Merlin looked up at the knight, whose eyes were anxiously looking back. "You alright?" he asked softly, but his shoulders were tense, fearful.

Ah, how to answer that… "I just tripped," he said quietly, looking away. He went to bite his lip, and a very annoyed flash of pain zapped him. He released it, and resisted the urge to grab onto Gwaine's arm to stop himself from falling over as the aftershock wreaked havoc with his already pain laden nerves. He could do this by himself, and he was _not_ going to grab onto anyone's arm like some prissy noble lady. Arthur already thought that he was a girl normally, and he wasn't going to further the notion by clinging to Gwaine. Well…At least not any more. He'd been emotionally compromised! Though, considering that he was still shaking like a leaf, it was probably safe to say that he was _still_ emotionally compromised.

All thoughts, however, flew promptly out the window as Gwaine tightened his grip. "Merlin," he said quietly. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Just like that, the little bit of humor he'd managed to shove into his life went "poof".

/

Gaius's rather quiet afternoon studying arsenic flew out the window when his door flew open to reveal a fuming Prince Arthur and a rather battered Merlin, who was being supported by Gwaine. He promptly dropped the bowl on the table, where it cracked and spilled small, silvery gray fragments all over it. He sat down hard, hands shaking as he took in his foster son's appearance, horrified. Nothing was said as he surveyed the group. Merlin's head hung dejectedly, lolling against Gwaine's shoulder. Arthur seemed tense and angry, never a good combination. Gwaine just looked murderous, his arm around Merlin's thin, sagging shoulders.

"What happened?" He finally asked, even though he knew the answer. He should have seen it coming, he thought to himself. He'd known that _he_was going to be arriving soon, he'd known that Uther would give him a servant with a high rank; he'd bloody well almost _known_ it would be Merlin. But somehow, he hadn't expected this, even after all of his years tending the victims. He hadn't seen it coming, and now he was paying the price for his foolish ignorance. He hadn't even asked who he was serving this week…he hadn't wanted to know, because he'd already known, in a way, and he didn't want to accept it…

"Lord Chillingham," Arthur said brusquely, hand curling around the pommel of his sword, his knuckles going almost white.

There. It was said. Gaius swallowed hard, and looked at Merlin, whose eyes were cloudy with pain. It was going to be a long few weeks.

"Put him on the bed, and then I want you both out."

Gwaine looked incensed, and Arthur opened his mouth, probably to yell, but Gaius held up a hand. "If you stay, you'll both be ready to kill by the time I'm done with him." Arthur mutinously shut his mouth, and Gwaine's shoulders hunched, almost protectively holding Merlin. Gaius noticed this with some interest, but kept his mouth shut.

Slowly, Gwaine came forward and set the limp young man on the bed, then looked at Gaius. "Have there been others?" He asked softly, his voice quiet but pained. Gaius sighed, reaching out to touch Merlin's forehead.

"What do you think?" He asked tiredly.

Silence fell, broken only by Merlin's shifting on the bed, and the quiet whimpers that were slipping out of his throat. Gaius looked at Merlin's pain riddled face, and felt a flash of pure agony go through him. The boy didn't deserve this nightmare- he didn't deserve any of what had happened to him. For such a gentle, quiet soul, he was constantly being tormented by his inner (and consistently outer) demons, and Gaius was getting sick of it all. The boy only ever tried to help, and this was how he was rewarded; with torture, pain, and anguish that seemed to be unendingly long, and unendurably hard.

It was so unfair.

When he looked back up, Gwaine and Arthur were gone, the door shut behind them. Curious, he went over and opened it, looking out into the hall. Both were sitting there, sheathed swords in hand and watching the door where he stood with unblinking eyes. He smiled weakly at the two of them, and said softly, "I worry about him considerably less with you two protecting him."

They nodded somberly, and Gaius shut the door again. Leaning on the old wood, he took a slow breath to steady himself, and then turned to look at the bed. Merlin had rolled himself over, and had buried his face in the pillow. Gaius pulled a chair over, and sat beside him.

Silence.

"I could have stopped him," Merlin said softly. "I wanted to. But I was afraid. I…I lost control of it. It was like the fear over rode everything. I couldn't even touch the magic, it just…I couldn't _touch _it. It kept pulling away…the more I tried to use it."

Gaius said nothing, just gently touched Merlin's shoulder.

"I was so scared…" Merlin's thin form shook, then stilled. "And it was all over such stupid things too…I called him 'sir' instead of 'my lord', I talked out of turn, I looked him in the eye…That was he blacked it, the eye thing… and then I dropped his dagger, and he sliced my cheek… The talking out of turn got me the backhand…the 'sir' was the split lip. And then I dropped some of his luggage…"

Gaius had treated enough of Chillingham's victim's to know what had happened next.

"Let's get your shirt off then," he said softly.

/

Gwaine and Arthur sat silently together, staring at the door. Both were drowning in their own thoughts, but they were both determined to drown privately, or not at all.

Gwaine was thinking of Merlin's expression when he'd found him on the back stairs, far away from anybody who would see him, his eyes red rimmed from crying. He would never forget that look of absolute horror when Gwaine had called his name, the way he'd flinched like he was afraid, and the shame that flitted over his features as he tried to hide his face, wiping away the remains of tears. It hurt, that Merlin couldn't trust their friendship. Admittedly, Gwaine could tend to be a bit of a butt on occasion, he'd be the first to admit it, but that Merlin had been afraid of him…That was painful.

Arthur was thinking about Merlin as well- More specifically, the fact that Merlin hadn't fought back. He knew Merlin had magic, you'd have to be blind not to see it, but for him to let it happen…He would have had to be truly terrified. Arthur had a hazy, vague notion of what magic entailed, and he was relatively certain that words came into the process somewhere, but he was also fairly sure that he'd seen the magic done without words. This, he thought tiredly, still begged the question as to why he hadn't fought back. It didn't make any sense. Merlin's sense of self preservation was remarkably well honed, and he was, as far as Arthur knew, a good magician (or mage, or warlock, or whatever), so for him to just lay down and take something meant that he either a) couldn't do anything or b) was too scared to do anything. (He was betting on 'b', though 'a' was definitely making a good argument.)

"Gwaine," Arthur said finally.

The man stirred. "Yeah?"

"Hypothetically speaking…If I was to begin looking for a way to remove Merlin from his servitude to Chillingham, would you be willing to help me?"

/

The welts were long, and there were four of them, angry red lines that sliced across the milky pale skin and raised ridges across Merlin's back. Gaius felt sick as he gently rubbed in various medicines to help with the swelling and kill the pain. Merlin was already holding a lump of meat against his swollen eye. They sat in absolute silence for a long time, Merlin occasionally flinching if Gaius pressed too hard, but remaining quiet.

"Gaius?" He finally asked, and Gaius's heart sank.

"Yes?"

"Are there…are there others who this has happened too?"

Gaius sighed. "Lord Chillingham's first victim came to me when I was only 25," he said softly. "Every three years, he comes to visit with Uther, and every three years, someone ends up here, a wreck of what they used to be. I should have warned you…But…"

"It's alright, Gaius," Merlin said softly. "I just have to last out 13 more days."

Gaius flinched at that, taking a shaky breath as he reached for the bandages that sat beside him.

It was going to be a very long next few weeks.


	2. The Border Lord

**Disclaimer: Sorry, still don't own them, but wish I did, or at least had Eoin's abs.**

/

The morning came much too early, and for once he was awake when dawn hit. Merlin's body complained mightily as he opened his very sore eyes, and he groaned. He had to divide his time between Arthur and Lord Chillingham, and his mornings were going to belong to Chillingham until the end of this fortnight. The man had specified that he be up at dawn, and Gaius had told him on no uncertain terms that there was no way that he was going to be getting him up that early. Rolling out of the bed, he winced as his back twinged, and the bruises that had come with the whipping cried out in anguished fury. Pressing a hand to the bandages that encircled his torso, he swore to himself that he was _not_ going to get himself into trouble today. He would be polite, and quiet, and conforming, and so help him, he'd be the image of the submissive servant if he had too. Anything was worth not getting whipped again.

Rising, he began to stretch and instantly stopped, the pull on his back reminding him sternly that he was more or less injured for the second time in less than a minute. Sighing, he reached up and gingerly touched his lip. It was scabbed over, and didn't hurt as much as yesterday, but his eye was still excruciatingly sore. He could open it almost the whole way, and the swelling had gone down, at least. With a sigh, he reached over and picked up the concoction Gaius had ordered him to rub on the bruises. It was surprisingly watery, and easy to rub in. After he struggled into his clothes, he slipped out of his room, being careful to shut the door quietly. Gaius was sleeping still, and Merlin frowned when he saw that the old man's eyes were swollen and red- he must have been crying. Grabbing a sandwich from the plate, he headed downstairs, filled with trepidation.

Time to fake it.

/

The room was almost pitch black when he slipped quietly inside. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat softly.

"Do that again, boy, and my temper will be even shorter than it already is," a low voice warned from the vague direction of the bed. Admittedly, if he hadn't known who the voice had belonged to, he would have called it seductive. It was the kind of low, almost dangerous voice that made one feel like they were being slowly caressed, but it held a trace of warning- move too fast, and you'd find a knife at your neck. Merlin cautiously approached the bed where the speaker lay, already wary of what today would be bringing. He hadn't expected the man to be awake this early, and that definitely threw off his plan to get in, get out, and get away.

A low chuckle echoed in the room, and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and saluted. He stopped, unsure of what to do now. Did he do something wrong?

There was a pause, and then a softly spoken, almost smug, "You're learning."

Merlin swallowed hard, and lowered his head submissively. "I try, my lord." The term "my lord" came out choked. It felt like a betrayal, saying those words to anyone but Arthur, even if he was quite possibly the world's largest prat. It was just so…so hideously, twistedly, horridly _wrong._ _13 days,_he thought desperately. _13 days, and the man is gone, out of my hair. I just have to last that long._

"Open the last curtain," he ordered. Merlin, after a bit of stumbling around in the dark, finally found the last window. Some scrambling against hard stone took place, but he eventually found the curtain and pulled it open, the red velvet soft and reassuring in his hands as he tied it out of the way.

A faint stream of golden light entered, playing with the dust motes that spun and twisted through the air, lighting parts of the room.

"Very good."

Merlin turned subtly, and watched as Lord Aden Chillingham rose out of bed at the other end of the room.

The man was, first and foremost, tall. Long bodied, gracefully limbed, and proportioned like a model of a much taller being than he already was, Chillingham stood easily 6'4", and was lithe as a man half his age, and muscled as heavily as any of the knights. His hair had silvered with age, not unlike Uther's, but it still retained a vivid reddish-gold that must have been beautiful in his youth, and no bald spots had yet shown themselves. He wore it long, an oddity among the courtiers, but Merlin could attest that it was the man's sole vanity- his room was disturbingly bare save for the two trunks he'd brought with him. The Lord didn't have much to be vain about. His body was a mass of scars, a testament of what the Northern Border could do to a man, the most notable being a huge, thick white line that stretched from the left corner of his collarbone to his right hip. Merlin was willing to bet that it had been healed by magic, though whether or not it was after the Purge he didn't know. His face was scarred as well, a mass of dips and swirls of old tissue in a plethora of colors- one was a brilliant red, another a vivid purple, and a short, white scar slashed down the center of his nose. He had probably once been an exceptionally handsome man but with the hideous scarring, and a terrifying temper, it was clear why he hadn't ever married.

Merlin dropped his eyes as the man came towards him, making no noise as his bare feet came into sight. He could feel eyes running appraisingly over him, and flinched when a huge hand slipped under his chin and forced his head up. Brooding, storm-cloud grey eyes bored into his, and he froze as the Lord examined him critically. His heart beat exploded in fear, pounding through him and making the wounds throb in disapproving pain.

Finally, a hint of a smile worked onto the border lord's face. "Gaius does good work," he said, clearly pleased. "I expected no less, of course, but this is truly exceptional."

Merlin frowned. "My lord?"

Chillingham smirked. "Go look in the mirror."

He released him, and gestured at the expensive glass that leaned in the corner. Merlin swallowed hard, and made his way through the half dark to it. Steeling himself, he looked into the mirror, and choked back a gasp.

There was no bruise around his eye, and none on his face. The scab was there on his lip, but the bruises were completely gone.

_Impossible._ He could feel the pain, and he'd certainly been aware of it this morning- he'd _felt_ them. But the only other possibility was magic…but no. The risk was far too great for Gaius to be-spell something. He wouldn't do something like this knowing that Merlin could do without it. It would be so foolish…

"Merlin."

Merlin jumped, and turned. "My lord," he said quietly, looking at the floor even though his inner self rebelled at doing it. He hated faking his subservience, particularly to this man. If he'd had a choice, he would have magicked him out to the middle of Mercia, and naked at that. Preferably, he would have sent him to the middle of a patrol who were carrying very sharp swords.

"I'd like a pear for breakfast."

…A pear? The man wanted a _pear_? That was all?

"Anything else, my lord?" Merlin asked uncertainly, chancing a look upright.

Chillingham sighed, smiling wryly as he leaned against the wall. "It's an odd request, I know, but I really rather enjoy them. I also prefer not to have a large breakfast- make note of that."

"…Yes, my lord. I'll…I'll go fetch you a pear then," he said nervously. Chillingham nodded approvingly, and waved him off.

"I can dress on my own this morning. Bring it to the training grounds, I'll be there by then."

Merlin honestly couldn't believe his good luck. "Yes, my lord," he breathed, and left the room, trying not to appear rushed.

/

Once the boy had left, Aden let the smile fall from his face. Striding over to the wardrobe, he yanked open the doors and pulled out the red lacquered box from where it had been sitting on a shelf. The thing had been hideously expensive, but worth every groat- secret compartments were a wonder. Running his fingers over the carving of the fox emblazoned on it, he felt the click as the top became loose. Lifting the true lid, he plucked the tiny bottle of powder out of its depths, sighing with relief.

He allowed himself a smile, and returned the vial to its nest. It was perfectly safe, and who would even think to look for such a thing? The smile faded once again as he thought of Merlin, sharp eyed, sharp minded, too-aware-for-his-own-good Merlin_._

It had been a stroke of bad luck, getting the prince's own manservant. Normally Uther just stuck him with the mindless brats he kept to service his own chambers, the ones that Aden had already trained to his tastes. But no, this time he'd gone and given him an unbroken whelp, a lanky, scrawny, untrained child. It was incredibly frustrating, not having a spy within Uther's innermost chambers to report to him, but if he could only break this one to bridle, well…The prince would have to do for now. But he'd lost control last night, furious at the lack of respect he'd been paid, and hurt the face, the most visible spot. He'd cursed himself blue for it, but what was done, was done. He could use more inventive means later. The boy _would_ break- he'd been training his servants longer than the boy had been alive, and he had no intention of letting this one get away unbroken.

Now… To the training grounds, and more importantly…Uther.

With a smirk, Aden began pulling on his training gear.

_13 days…_

/

Merlin had chosen the best pear he could find, and was now watching in stunned awe as Lancelot faced off against the monstrosity that was Lord Chillingham. Unlike most court nobles, his armor was battered and scarred as he was, and he was _good._ It was nothing short of terrifying, knowing that even Lancelot was having to struggle against the tall man.

He jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder with the weight of one of the castle walls. "Arthur," he scolded as the prince came into view, "Quit that. Really, my shoulder's going to be dislocated one of these days, and then where will you be?"

"Laughing hysterically," Arthur said dryly. He looked at him closely. "Where're your bruises?" he demanded, looking utterly unnerved.

"I have no clue. Gaius is apparently very talented- they were gone this morning when I went to Lord Chillingham's chambers, but the pain's still fairly annoying, if nothing else," Merlin explained, glancing over to see Gwaine approaching, murder in his eyes. "Erm, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Might I humbly suggest that we take this somewhere else? It's just that Gwaine…If looks could kill…"

A slow, very dangerous smile crossed Arthur's face. "Why Merlin," he said almost smugly, "I do believe you've hit the nail on the head." With that cryptic comment, he walked off in Gwaine's direction. Merlin frowned, wanting to go after him. Unfortunately, he was still in possession of Lord Chillingham's pear, and he got the feeling that the man didn't like to miss his breakfasts.

He watched closely, however, as Arthur and Gwaine's heads came close together, talking softly to one another, and occasionally glancing his direction. They were clearly discussing him, and it was more than a little annoying not knowing what they were saying. He scowled, and stalked off to go sit by Sir Leon, who was nursing a dislocated shoulder for the second time in a week and therefore not allowed to practice.

"Morning," he said cheerfully. Leon looked grateful for the company.

"Good morning, Merlin. Lovely day, isn't it?"

Merlin grinned. "Of all the things to start a conversation with…But yes, it is quite nice."

Leon chuckled, gazing out over the knights, most of whom were watching the fight. "Lord Chillingham is certainly something else," he remarked. "The last time he was here, he took on Uther- definitely gave him a run for his money there."

Ah, perfect timing. "What do you know about him?" Merlin asked nonchalantly, leaning a bit closer.

"Aden Chillingham, first and only known child of the Lord Aquissance Pendragon of Kendral Fief, and the Lady Marcia Cavarel. Uther's first cousin- Aquissance was his father's youngest brother-, currently in line for the throne if Arthur dies, hates apples with a fiery passion, a fairly nice man as far as anyone knows, but there's been rumors that he abuses servants." Merlin flinched at that.

Leon continued merrily on. "I don't believe it for a minute though- he seems quite kind. He's a border lord, so he's incredibly tough, but that's to be expected. Never married, no relatives save his mother, who's actually here right now, but they aren't on speaking terms." He looked expectantly over at a wide eyed Merlin. "Anything else?"

"Y-ess," Merlin said, dragging the word out as his mind tried to comprehend everything he'd just been told. "Normally, what type of people serve him?"

"Normally Uther has one of his personal servants at Chillingham's disposal, but…" Leon looked warily around, as if Uther were about to pop up from behind a pile of shields, "He decided put you with him because he thinks you aren't as respectful to Arthur as you should be, and Aden's _very_ good at getting people "respectful". That's what he said at council."

Merlin's stomach heaved. It explained so much- Others didn't know about the abuse his servants suffered because they'd been Uther's, and he'd seen how much attention gave his servants. What had they gone through, for the love of a King?

With a clang, Lancelot went flying backwards, landing on his back. There was a huge round of applause, and Chillingham began heading toward Merlin. He rose instantly, panic sealing his throat as the scarred face approached. With a trembling hand, he extended the pear.

"My lord," he said softly, and in the corner of his eye, he saw Gwaine approaching, and Arthur heading off to go help some of the younger knights.

Chillingham smiled at him, and plucked the pear from his hand. "Very nice. Thank you, Merlin. Oh, I'll want my shirts mended before you leave at midday. See that it's done."

Gwaine was getting steadily closer, an extremely fake smile fixed on his face. He was nearly there when there was a booming laugh, and a cry of "Aden, you managed to roll out of bed at last!"

Uther strode onto the field in armor, and half the jaws dropped. Gwaine froze in his advance, the smile dropped as he glowered furiously at Uther, who'd clasped Chillingham's arm and was pulling him towards the center of the field for a fight. Gwaine stalked over to Merlin, glowering at the two as they took up positions. "I don't believe it," he muttered. "I really don't believe it. _I_was going to do that."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "What, and kill him in the process?" He tried to keep his voice light, as if laughing.

Gwaine's eyes were cold as he watched the king parry a ferocious blow. "I live in hope, as the priest said to the priestess."

Merlin's anxiety returned full force and he clutched Gwaine's arm, pulling him away. Gwaine resisted at first, then reluctantly followed, letting Merlin lead him back to the castle. Once they'd slipped inside, Merlin leaned against a wall and said softly, "Maybe he was just having an off day. He hasn't touched me except in passing today, and once midday hits, I belong to Arthur. I'll be fine- We all just over reacted." It was a lie, and they both knew it, but Merlin had to try. He couldn't take it if Gwaine was well and truly banished again.

Gwaine growled, slamming his fist in the wall by Merlin's head. "Don't even try to tell me that. I've met enough people like him to know that when they hit someone, they'll do it again. You grew up in a border town, you know how people get when they're surrounded with violence…You've seen how they treat their women, their children…" His eyes unexpectedly softened, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat as the hand that had just slammed the wall gently cupped his cheek. "Merlin, I'd rather be dead than watch you go through that."

The look in his eyes, a soft, broken tenderness, terrified Merlin. He reached up, touching Gwaine's hand and leaning into the broad surface. "Gwaine, I can take this," he whispered, closing his eyes to avoid facing what he could see within them. "But I'd love to know what I ever did to deserve a friend like you."

The moment was ruined as the sound of footsteps approaching echoed in the hall. They jolted apart, warily looking around, faces flushed though they'd both be hard pressed to explain why.

The footsteps belonged to a servant, and Gwaine sighed, almost sounding relieved. They waited as the slim young page scurried past, and then looked back at each other. Merlin swallowed hard, lowering his eyes as Gwaine looked at him coolly.

"I promise I'll come to you if it happens again," he promised quietly.

Gwaine nodded, appeased. "Don't let him hurt you. Get out of it. Arthur and I are working on a way to get you out of here, but it'll take a few days."

"Gwaine," Merlin said, exasperated. "I can't just go haring off into the countryside. Uther specifically placed me with Chillingham to teach me a lesson- he's not just going to let me go because Arthur wants to go hunting."

"But-"

Merlin grabbed his arm and hissed, suddenly enraged, "Uther didn't even notice when his own personal servants were being tortured in front of him. You think he'll care one whit for me? I rather doubt it."

Gwaine's eyes widened. "His own-"

"Yes."

Gwaine's jaw tightened, and Merlin gulped as he was roughly pulled against hard chain mail in a hug. Gwaine's hand cupped the back of his head, his other being careful to keep from hurting Merlin's back. Merlin's heart thudded hard as Gwaine kissed the top of his head gently. The man was clearly awash with emotions, and Merlin was along for the ride, it seemed. Admittedly, he wasn't really complaining.

"Don't do anything to provoke him, okay?" He mumbled into Merlin's hair. "I think I'll have to kill him if he hurts you again."

Merlin, rather uncomfortably squished against the chain mail, couldn't help but smile. "Alright. I'll be careful."

"You'd better," Gwaine grumbled, and let him go.

/

Arthur was not exactly in a very good mood when Merlin finally appeared in his rooms around midday. Merlin gaped at the state of the room, somewhere between furious and exasperated. "Arthur! I was gone for half a day, and this is what happens?"

Arthur merely turned over and buried himself in blankets, unwilling to face his friend-_ohlordhesaidit_- at the moment. The room was absolutely trashed, it was true, but he'd prefer from that to going and killing Chillingham.

"Arthur, look at me," Merlin said tiredly. Warily, he lifted his head to see Merlin beside the bed, arms crossed. "I'll get to the room in a minute, but I want to know something."

"What?"

"You told Gwaine to go and fight Chillingham, and try and kill him, didn't you?"

Arthur's eyes flashed angrily. "Yes," he said shortly, and buried his head again. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to think about it, and he didn't want Merlin thinking about it. Merlin was silent for a while, then sighed and walked away.

Arthur listened to the sounds of Merlin cleaning for a bit, then rolled over and watched him for a minute. He felt a stab of guilt as the thin man crawled about, gathering things before setting them on the table, touching his back every time. After 3 minutes or so, he sighed gustily, and got out of bed. Merlin said nothing, but smiled slightly as Arthur began tossing things on the table. The silence was comfortable, a nice change from the tension that had filled the air lately.

"How was today?" Arthur finally asked, unable to stand it any longer.

Merlin's smile went even wider. "Didn't even lay a hand on me," he said cheerfully, "Though he's incredibly rough on his seams."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he knew he was smiling. "Good."

"No, not good! Do you know how long it takes to mend a shirt for someone that big?" Merlin demanded. "Ages, Arthur, _ages_!"

"You never seem to have a problem with mine," Arthur laughed, tossing a shirt at him.

"Oi!"


	3. Plans Underfoot

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, but wish that I did, I won't lie.**

**/**

"You used magic to get rid of my bruises, didn't you?"

Gaius jumped as Merlin slipped silently inside their rooms, glowering in disapproval in his direction as he shut the door firmly and stalked forward. "What?"

"My bruises, Gaius," he snapped, pointing fiercely at his face. "Nothing can make them just disappear, not without magic!" Gaius looked anxious for a moment, then positively _smirked._ Cocking his head, he eyed the boy, incredibly pleased that his little experiment had worked so well.

"I knew that color would work well on you."

"… What?" Merlin said, startled, looking warily at Gaius.

"You know the powders that the women use for their faces to hide blemishes?" Gaius said, returning to the herbs he'd been grinding up. Merlin nodded, still looking annoyed, but at least seemed a little intrigued. "Well, I bought some that I assumed would be about your skin color _months_ ago- just in case something similar to this happened, you know, you're so _clumsy_on occasions. I just added water."

Merlin gaped at him. "I've been wearing _face paints_ all day?"

"Yes, and I must admit it worked admirably- I didn't honestly believe it would work."

Merlin sat down hard, staring at him in amazement. "You are a devious old man," he said finally. "And I really should thank you."

Gaius chuckled. "Try to get some sleep. You'll have an early morning tomorrow. Just make certain to put the make-up on before you leave. It would be rather odd if you had no bruises today and yet had them tomorrow, seeing as you didn't pay a visit to his Lordship after you dealt with Arthur. I hope I assume correctly?"

Merlin nodded somberly. "I stayed out of his way. Good night then, Gaius," he said softly, and headed up to his room.

Just as he reached the door, Gaius called out, "Merlin, _do_ you need any patching up?"

The lean young man smiled, shaking his head. "No, he didn't even lay a hand on me today."

/

Gwaine slipped quietly through the doors to the forbidden wing of the castle, checking quickly to assure himself that no guards were passing at an inopportune moment. Padding as quietly as possible up the tight, spiraling stairs, he smiled as he reached the next level. He headed down the hall filled with doorways to the one at the far end, an enormous red rug muffling the sound of his feet. Each door was unique- all were different sizes and shapes. Some were painted, some were bare, but all had the same handle; a dragons claw holding a ball. Whistling to himself, he inserted the key into the lock, and turned. The door opened soundlessly (he'd spent a good half a day oiling the hinges just so), and he stepped into his rooms.

The place was the image of luxury- the bed was enormous, covered in expensive silks and brocades from the Far East, the tables elaborately carved, the mantle wooden, rather than stone, and carved with a hunting scene. He smiled proudly at the place, reveling in his personal paradise.

"I'm home," he announced smugly, and began to strip down as the fireplace automatically lit the logs sitting in it.

Gwaine wasn't technically even supposed to be within the castle walls, let alone in the forbidden wing, but he had no intention of finding lodgings in the lower town, and, well-just because Uther had murdered the magic-users who'd lived in these chambers, didn't mean they were haunted or anything. (Admittedly, he'd seen a ghost of some sort, but he'd just smiled and waved, and the beheaded man had simply lifted his head up and down somberly and continued on his way.) The rooms were empty, still carrying most of the enchantments that their former occupants had placed on it, and they were quite useful. The fireplace one was triggered by the words "I'm home", the strange metal tub had taps that ran water of both hot and cold varieties (something that had convinced Gwaine to keep the room), and the windows would open only when you asked them. The room was always clean, and no matter what, if Gwaine dropped anything, it would be returned to its "proper" place by morning. (He'd been very curious as to why someone had left a hurdle in his room, at first, but when he found his clothes laid over it, he'd accept the thing.)

Sliding in between the silk sheets (yet another thing he loved about the room), he nestled his head against the pillow and tried to think of ways to get Merlin away from Chillingham. Tried was the operative word, here, because the thoughts just kept returning rather insistently to Merlin. He'd felt so furious just seeing that tired look in his eyes, the way he'd said he would get through it… He'd wanted to protect him, steal him away from all the harm and danger that threatened to swallow them up. And holding him-! He could feel each of Merlin's ribs, his spine, the angles and edges just covered by the skin…

What would his hipbones feel like?

He immediately whacked a hand over his mouth, just to keep himself from yelping. Where had that treacherous, treasonous thought come from?

/

When Merlin arrived at Lord Chillingham's rooms at dawn, the man had already left, leaving behind only a piece of paper and a pile of laundry. Merlin sighed, and picked up the paper, already resigned to a morning of work. The message, addressed to him, was written in a short, cramped hand that seemed terse and unpleasant just with its angles. He was exceptionally thankful that he'd learned to read Gaius's scrawl hand as well as the clear writing of the books he'd been introduced to. It made it much easier to read the letters.

_Merlin,_ it began, _I will be out of the castle until around lunch time. The clothes on the table need mending, the floor wants scrubbing, and the whip needs to be cleaned and properly oiled by the time I return. Do NOT oil the handle. Also, all of your other chores should be completed (making bed, folding clothes, etc., you know what you need to do) upon my return. I expect all of this done, and I assure you, my temper is already dangerously thin this morn. Make certain it is not taken out on you. –LAC_

Merlin swallowed hard, and looked at the room. While he certainly wasn't Arthur, Lord Chillingham certainly wasn't the cleanest of people, and was definitely of the type that tended to drop things wherever they felt like. The laundry would be a nightmare to do, and the mending wouldn't be easy either. The whip though- His back burned at the very thought of touching the thing, let alone oiling it to be used again. If he'd had his way, he'd already have burned the hideous thing. Glancing around, he spotted it coiled like a snake on the Lord's pillow, resting incongruously against the soft linens. He glared all nine feet of braided leather that made up the thing, and fought the urge to run.

With one last look, he closed all the doors and locked them, pulled the curtains over the windows, and stepped to the center of the room. Taking a deep breath, he whispered under his breath, and felt the magic fly out of him. The bed swiftly made itself, the edges military sharp, and the floor became spotlessly clean as the belongings flew to their proper places. He smiled, pleased. That was going to spare him a lot of time. Now, on to the mending.

/

It was around the ninth bell when the mending finished, and Merlin finally turned to the whip. The thing still sat on the pillow, glowering at him. He'd put it off until last if only because of what he had felt the thing do, and to handle it- it was a stomach churning ordeal that he would much rather avoid, but he had no choice. Rising, he went to the bed, and picked it gingerly up by the handle. It did nothing, lying limp in his hand. He stared cautiously at the whip for a minute, half expecting it to turn around and strike him across the face, but it only moved when he did. Slowly, he wrapped his hand all the way around the handle, filled with morbid curiosity.

Experimentally, he flicked his hand, and the whip responded in kind, shuffling across the bed to flop limply on the floor. Merlin felt inordinately pleased with himself, as if he'd just fought and won some great battle. He flicked his hand again, harder, and the leather slithered across the floor with a soft hiss. He smiled.

There was a knock on the door, and Merlin dropped the whip, terrified. _He wasn't supposed to be back until lunch time!_

"Excuse me?"

He relaxed. It definitely wasn't Lord Chillingham. Picking up the whip and setting it almost reverently on the table, he went over and cautiously opened the door. A man in servant's clothes stood there, cool blue eyes looking warily at him. The two carefully examined each other, eyes untrusting and nervous. The man wasn't very old, maybe mid-twenties, and had curly blonde hair that fitted like a cap on a wholly unremarkably face. The eyes were blue, the body solid, but he was utterly _normal_ looking. It was an odd effect, but Merlin felt that he'd met him before. Merlin finally just opened the door. "Do you want to come in?"

The man nodded somberly, and entered the room. His eyes flicked around, quickly absorbing everything. He jumped a little as Merlin closed the door, but turned to look at him.

"I'm Morris. One of Uther's servants- and once one of Lord Chillingham's."

Everything clicked. Merlin relaxed. "I see. Why are you here?"

Morris gave him a dry smile. "To give you some advice."

/

Aden relaxed into the chair that Uther had offered him. Smiling at his cousin, he hid the vengeance that burned in him behind false compliments. Uther preened with them, and offered him some wine. Aden smiled, but politely declined. It didn't do to drink in front of an enemy. He definitely didn't want to be light headed- the potential he could let something slip was high when he was drunk, and he'd seen too many people die for far more innocent things than plotting to kill their king.

"So, Aden, I have a proposition for you," Uther began once Coriandan had finished setting out a bowl of fruit laden heavily with pears. One of Aden's personal masterpieces, Coriandan was utterly devoted to him and had been religiously sending him information on Uther for years. Their eyes met briefly, and the man demurely lowered his once his master gave him a tiny nod. Aden smiled sweetly as he plucked a pear up out of the bowl and bit into it, savoring the taste.

"And what might that be?" He asked the king, stretching out his long legs under the table.

"I thought we might go hunting," Uther said blithely. "Arthur can handle affairs for a few days- four should about do it. Two for travel, two to stay at the lodge in the woods, just a nice time together. It'd be nice to just have a little break, no? Things here at court can tend to get so annoying, with everyone being so demanding. Though, it is nice having you whip the knights into shape…"

Aden's heart thudded in his chest as he considered the implications while Uther rambled on about how nice it was having him here, even if it was only for a fortnight. It would be literally the perfect cover, he thought swiftly, to kill Uther in a hunting accident: A boar spear to the chest that he fell on, a stray arrow, bandits… He'd be a fool not to do it. He could get Uther out of the way, come back and poison Arthur, and have the kingdom under his thumb before next week hit. Of course, he'd have to play the part of the grieving relative, but that was easy enough to pull off. And with Camelot still reeling in shock from the deaths of the royal family, well! He was third in line anyway, and who was going to let that idiot wench Morgana back after what she'd done? They'd let him in with open arms and tear streaked faces. And he'd be there to comfort them, the huddled, terrified masses, and bring them to heel.

Uther was so heedlessly devoted to him. It would almost be a pity to just have it over with- a quick kill, no elegancy and no torment before. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and Aden would merely have to deal with the consequences later.

He smiled charmingly at the oblivious man in front of him, a knife edge on the torn face. "That, cousin, sounds just about perfect."

Coriandan's thin smile from behind Uther was just as deadly.

/

"Lord Chillingham has many pet peeves, and some of them are truly unusual," Morris said softly, looking at the whip that lay on the table. "Should you do anything that he truly despises, he'll see you flogged or worse. Do nothing to make him angry."

"So I've discovered," Merlin said dryly, folding a shirt. "He beat me the first night I was working for him."

Morris didn't seem surprised. "Well, you aren't exactly known for being the most submissive of servants, and he values submissiveness more than his beloved pears," he said, almost smiling. "But make sure that you're quiet. He doesn't appreciate vocal partners."

Merlin's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean, vocal?"

Morris stared at him flatly. "Exactly what I said. He doesn't like screams, or cries of any kind."

"Why would I be screaming?"

Morris snorted. "Why wouldn't you? Nobles aren't exactly known for being gentle with us- and I hardly imagine that Arthur is."

"Sure, he's not gentle, but…he doesn't _beat_me, he just throws things when he's in a bad mood," Merlin said, absolutely lost now. Morris looked like he was resisting the urge to bang his head on the table.

"Surely you're not that innocent," he said disbelievingly. "Pleasing the master tends to come with the job description."

Merlin looked at him blankly. "What?"

Morris shook his head, sympathetic. "Just…when it happens, try to relax, all right?"

"What happens?" Merlin demanded, feeling a little panicked.

Morris sighed, sitting down. "Please tell me that your mother was kind enough to give you the birds and the bees talk."

"Well, ye- Oh gods. _No!_ You… you can't be serious!" Merlin said as realization hit with the force of a battering ram. Morris nodded, looking a little exasperated as Merlin collapsed on the floor, feeling like he'd just been clubbed over the head. The world spun dizzily, and he couldn't focus as he tried to wrap his mind around what he'd just been told. Swallowing hard, he looked up at Morris. "Do…Do most nobles…" his voice trailed off as Morris nodded apathetically.

"We're not people to most of them- we're just little accessories, and who'd get mad at their husband for bedding a servant that couldn't bear a bastard child?" His eyes softened as he saw the horror in Merlin's eyes. "Just stay out of his way, and you should be fine."

Merlin wrapped his arms around his knees. "Have…have there been others?"

"Ten, all told, but only four of us are alive," Morris said gently. "One works in the Lower Town now- that's Dom, and two are completely brainwashed- Coriandan and Loren. They work with me under Uther, but they aren't as close to him as I am. They'll obey Aden's every command, follow his every wish."

Merlin frowned. "Why would they do that?"

"Fear, perhaps. I probably would have ended up like them, except that I had someone to run to when they had no one- I had my sister. She kept me sane, reminding me that I wasn't just a useless life. Make sure you have someone that can keep you safe and aware that you're still important. Do you have someone that can do that?"

Unbidden, the thought of Gwaine popped into Merlin's mind, the memory of how he'd pulled him close, and the soft scent of his skin. He swallowed hard. "Yes…I think I have someone like that."

Morris nodded. "Alright. If you need any help, just come to Uther's chambers. I'm normally there." Merlin nodded dumbly, and Morris slid off the chair. Gently, he rested a hand on Merlin's shoulders. "You'll be okay. Tell me if he tries to proposition you, alright?"

"I will," Merlin said quietly.

Morris nodded, and then exited the room.

Merlin swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, and stood. Propositioning aside, he was going to be flayed alive if he didn't have the whip oiled by the time the man returned. He'd cross the sexual hurdle when it came, but until then, he would push the thing out of his thoughts.

/

Merlin shrank back against the wall as Lord Chillingham stormed in, terrified beyond measure. He'd never seen the border lord like this before, and he was seriously hoping that he'd never see him like this again. The man crackled with vicious energy, and his fierce gray eyes snapped back and forth about the room, eventually landing on Merlin's almost prone form. "Out. I have to pack my things. I won't be requiring your services for the rest of the day."

Merlin bolted from the wall, and was halfway to the door when a hard hand gripped his arm.

"Merlin," the man said in a sinisterly sweet voice that made a shiver ricochet up his arm, "I'll be gone for the next four days on a hunting trip with Uther. While I'm away, I fully expect this room to be kept up- And Merlin?" Merlin froze, stiff from fear and anxiety. "Do behave yourself."

Merlin was released, and he slipped over to the door. Pulling it open, he glanced over his shoulder as Aden picked up the now oiled whip, smiling almost insanely to himself as he almost lovingly fingered the leather. As he closed the door, the whip snapped, and cold laughter began echoing through the halls. Merlin's neck went cold with sweat as the hair there stood straight up, and he ran blindly down the hall, _anything_ to get away from the insanity in that laugh. As he rounded a corner, he ran straight into someone, and crashed to the floor.

"Merlin? Are you alright?" Gwaine. Of course, it'd have to be Gwaine. Merlin flung himself upright and hugged the knight tightly, shaking. Gwaine stumbled a bit, and then gingerly hugged him back. "Hello there. You sure you're fine?"

"The man is crazy," Merlin told Gwaine's chest fervently. "Completely insane. No one has a laugh like that that's actually right in the head. He's lost it."

Gwaine's chest, which was not nearly as sympathetic as Gwaine himself, was rather warm, Merlin thought absently as his heart beat slowed. Gwaine chuckled. "Well, I suppose you're done with Lord Coldpig for today. Join me for lunch?"

Merlin blinked a couple times, looking up at him. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, sure. You can drop by Gaius's, grab your things for Arthur, and we'll go for lunch. I'll even buy."

Merlin eyed him warily. "You're not putting it on a tab, are you?"

"No, no. I have no intention of doing that."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but for the first time since Morris had entered Chillingham's rooms, he smiled. "Alright. Let's go then."

/

Gwaine and Merlin both stared blankly at the pile of things sitting in front of Gaius's door, and then looked in unison up at the enormous KEEP OUT! sign that was hanging on it. They looked back down at the pile and the paper sitting on it. Merlin warily picked it up, sighing.

_Merlin, I'm sorry to do this, but there's a man with the pox in here, and I can't risk you catching it. You should be able to come back in about 5 days. –Gaius_

The two looked at each other, Gwaine eyeing Merlin with a growing interest, Merlin merely resigned.

"So. Where're you going to go?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know, I mean-it's not like I can room with Arthur."

"Why not?" Gwaine asked, looking at the scattered belongings and strange bits of luggage, and wondering if half of Arthur's belongings had moved upstairs overnight. He was relatively certain that Merlin wasn't the owner of any armor, fancy clothes, or unusually shaped but interesting candlesticks that appeared to be in the middle of a cleaning.

Merlin's cheekbones went pink and he began determinedly picking things up, pointedly ignoring Gwaine's searching stare. "Uh-nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Merlin," Gwaine said, amused and exasperated, bending down to help him pick up his things. "Despite the common belief that seems to permeate Camelot, I am not an idiot. Tell me what you're not telling me."

Merlin swallowed hard, and Gwaine reached over, grabbing his jaw so that he was forced to look at him. "Come on, tell me! It's not like I'm going to go haring around the countryside blabbing to every person I see. I value your friendship too much to drop it because of Arthur's oddities."

Merlin squirmed uncomfortably. "It's just…Arthur sort of…already has a roommate. On occasion. More often than not lately. But yeah."

"Who?" Gwaine asked, curiosity immediately peaked. Merlin turned a very pleasant shade of red, averted his eyes, and mumbled something indistinct.

"What?"

Merlin cleared his throat and muttered, "Gwen."

Gwaine smirked, releasing him. "Yes," he said reflectively, bending down to pick up a large bag that was filled with what seemed to be chain mail. "I can see why you wouldn't want to be sharing with Arthur. Things could get fairly awkward very quickly. I mean, what with her being like a sister to you and all that, and Arthur being romantically inclined-"

"Shut up. I'm trying to avoid that thought, thank you very much," Merlin grumbled, picking up the huge wicker basket that he had filled with his things. Balancing it on his head, with everything inside, he carefully turned and began navigating the stairs, one hand holding the basket.

"Where're you going?" Gwaine demanded, hastily picking up the remaining bags and following him.

"Town. I'll have to find a tavern with half decent rooms, or something, but I'm not staying with Arthur. He snores as well, by the way."

"Oh no you don't. I am not leaving you to fend for yourself in a _tavern_ of all places," Gwaine said firmly, catching up to him and pulling the basket away. "You're staying with me."


	4. Vengence Prepared, and Love Declared

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Merlin.**

/

Merlin looked around in absolute awe. "You know," he said in dumbfounded disbelief, "When you said you had nice rooms, this somehow wasn't what I was anticipating."

The rich reds and gold's of the room gleamed in the light, gloriously beautiful as the beams spilled over them, making them shimmer. The bed (which Gwaine was eternally thankful he'd made this morning) looked like it was on fire, the heavy embroidery sparkling as Merlin ran a hand over it in awe. Gwaine watched as he wandered around, touching the elaborate furniture. Smiling slightly, he leaned against the doorway and smiled as Merlin's thin hands inspected one of the small statues that sat on the mantle, bright blue eyes glittering with intent interest like a magpie drawn to shiny objects. He seemed perfectly content in the room- something that Gwaine approved of highly. He intended to have Merlin here much more often now, and if he was comfortable that was even better.

"I thought you'd like it," he told him, feeling inordinately affectionate. It was definitely nice seeing him in such a good mood. Merlin turned and smiled hugely at him, setting the basket in the corner by the fireplace. Despite the fact that it was late summer, the place was still cold at nights, and Gwaine was thankful for both the fireplace and the heavy blanket, and was willing to bet that Merlin would like them even better.

"I love it. It's so beautiful…I'm surprised Uther hasn't carted off most of this to the treasury- that statue of the knight alone is worth a fortune." He clapped his hands together, still grinning broadly. "So, do you have any other rooms that I need to see?"

"Just the bathing room, but it's connected to this one. I'll be staying in the room next door while you're here," Gwaine said, motioning him to come look. Merlin frowned slightly at that but followed him through the opening that led to the bathing room.

The sunken bath on the east side of the room was enormous, and the mosaic tiles on the sides were much older than Camelot itself, a relic from the older times when the Romani had invaded perhaps. Albion certainly had its fair share of the remnants. Gwaine personally had no idea how that thing had gotten here but hey, they were in the former magic-using wing of the castle, after all. The bath had two brass wheels set on its sides, each inscribed with a different mark. Merlin looked interested, Gwaine noted, rather than terrified out of his wits of the unusual device. Always good.

"The wheel on the right pours hot water, and the one on the left pours cold water. Best invention in the world. If nothing else, magic should be brought back just to make more of these things," he said fondly, gesturing to the tub. It wasn't the only thing- a large cabinet held a seemingly endless supply of towels, soaps, and salts that you could pour in. Gwaine was becoming extremely spoiled, and quite happily.

"Amazing," Merlin said, a bit anxiously. Gwaine smothered his knowing smile, and went back into the main room. Merlin obediently followed, and asked, "So, why aren't you just going to stay in here?"

"You can have the room-"

"Which I am sure can hold two," Merlin interrupted, rolling his eyes. "This place is huge. Just stay in here."

Gwaine gaped at him. "You…don't mind sleeping with me?"

Merlin looked him square in the eye and said firmly, "I'd rather sleep here, where I know I'm safe and you're nearby, than not know exactly where you are."

Gwaine was unexpectedly touched, and was about to say so when he noticed that Merlin's eyes were watering. Reaching out, he gently pulled him over and sat him in a chair. Pulling up one himself, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Merlin rubbed fiercely at his eyes, as if ashamed. "It's nothing, really. It's not like I didn't know, it's just that I didn't _want_ to know."

"Know what?"

Merlin lowered his head, looking shamefaced. "About the nobles who bed servants," he muttered disconsolately, twisting his hands back and forth. Gwaine pulled back in surprise, then reached out and gently ruffled Merlin's short hair.

"Hey, it's not your fault, alright?" he said softly, resting his hand against Merlin's cheek. "You can't help what they do, or that they go along with the nobles and don't fight back."

"How can they?" Merlin asked quietly, looking up at him. "Servants are trained to be accepting, to roll with the punches and the whippings, to go about their lives as silently as possible so as not to disturb their masters. They're supposed to be invisible, and who can hear the voice of someone who most people won't admit exist? How do you handle it, walking by their rooms when they're being tortured and-and possibly worse?"

Gwaine lowered his head so that they were eye to eye and looked at him intently. "I remember that even the quietest have voices, and I fight in whatever ways I can. And when this nightmare is over, I swear I'll go to Arthur and make him help the ones who can't speak learn how to sing."

/

Merlin wandered the dark halls, running a hand over the stones as he did so, aimlessly walking. It was perhaps midnight, but the darkness held no threat to him, not anymore. You couldn't face down a dragon and not lose some of your fears- He'd once feared the darkness and what it could hide, but no more. This was his time now, his safe place, his personal palace and his own realm. The faint blue light from the few windows lining the corridor leant it an almost romantically dim glow, and with nothing to interrupt him he simply continued on an endless way, letting his mind wander. His bare feet made no sound on the stone, and they were fairly warm, despite the usual coldness, something he was grateful for in a sort of vague thought that crossed through in the sea of thoughts. His mind wasn't entirely focused on the present, merely keeping him aware that he was walking, and there was light. A few halls branched off, but he paid them no heed, going on his way.

A soft scratching sound came from one of the halls that branched off, shaking him from his reverie. Pausing, he looked down into its depths, frowning. It was a strange noise, like claws on stone. Seized by an impetuous desire to see what it was, he dropped his hand from the wall and stepped down the branch.

The sounds increased, and a faint whimpering was added to them. He frowned, slowing his pace warily. A hint of unease crept in, but he continued forward, noticing as he did that the blue light was fading to black.

A wed "thud" sounded, and the noises stopped abruptly. Merlin halted, and peered into the gathering darkness, wary.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk-thud._

Something rolled out of the darkness and hit his foot. He looked down, and a scream tore from his mouth as Uther's decapitated head stared with sightless eyes up at him. He scrambled backwards, horrified.

"_Leaving so soon?"_

He looked up to see Chillingham step out of the shadow, hands coated with blood.

/

Gwaine jolted awake as Merlin screamed in terror, heart pounding as adrenaline filled him. After flailing about in the cumbersome sheets (who knew brocade was so _heavy)_, he found the writhing man asleep on the farthest side of the bed, and roughly shook him awake. Normally brilliant blue eyes snapped open, huge in their horror and glowing gold. Gwaine was thrown bodily across the room, slamming into a hard stone wall with a crunch as Merlin threw him with what must have been only a single thought.

In a daze, he saw that the rooms furniture was coming to life, and Merlin was scrambling backwards, flames roaring from his hands as the table scuttled forward with surprising speed. Gwaine croaked out a desperate, "No!"

The table paused, and then slowly backed away. The flames died, and Merlin looked over to see Gwaine as everything went black.

/

The first thing he noticed was that he _hurt_. It was a dull throb, but it was painful, and he was _not_ happy about it. Groaning, he opened his eyes to see Merlin's anxious face.

"Hello then," he mumbled, and closed his eyes again. The throbbing in his head was getting worse.

"Are...Are you alright?"

That made Gwaine smile, even if it was only for a second. "Merlin, you just threw me across the room. I'm not feeling all that great, but I'm alive."

Merlin's voice was quavering when he spoke. "I'm so sorry, Gwaine, I just had this horrible nightmare and-"

"Calm down, I'm alright. Did you heal me?"

Dead silence.

Merlin's voice was considerably higher pitched when he replied. "Heal you?"

Gwaine forced a chuckle through a tight throat. "Yes, you idiot. I know, Arthur knows, I'm pretty sure the whole damn castle knows, except Uther. You aren't exactly subtle." He opened his eyes again to find Merlin staring at him with a face that displayed a mixture of abject horror and relief. He reached up with a wince and gently stroked his cheek, smiling softly. "Don't worry, we aren't going to take off and murder you. You're too important for that."

"How long?" He whispered, leaning into Gwaine's hand almost unconsciously. Gwaine inwardly glowed, extremely pleased with himself- Merlin was, at the very least, comfortable with him touching him. That was good. Touching could- and if he had his way, would certainly lead to other things.

"Since Jarl's castle. The fire-" His voice was abruptly cut off.

This was mainly due to the fact that another mouth was firmly on his and he was busily relishing this fact, and half-mindedly wondering where the buggering _hell_ Merlin had learned how to kiss and...and it was Good. Very, very, very Good. He tasted like spring and sunshine and seduction, which was odd because Merlin shouldn't taste like seduction but did, and Gwaine was more than happy to return the favor he was being given.

They separated after what felt like six years, or possibly six seconds, and stared at each other. Merlin was about the same color as a tomato, and Gwaine was trying to pull his mind back together. They were both a bit breathless, and Gwaine found himself staring in fascination at Merlin's slightly swollen mouth. He didn't think he'd been exerting that much pressure, but then again.

"I'm so sorry."

Gwaine blinked. "For what?"

Merlin looked incredulously at him, eyes slightly panicked. "I just kissed you! I had no right!"

"If you want to apologize, you can do it again."

Merlin paused. Gwaine smiled.

/

The rest of the night was spent in curious exploration, namely of the mouth and neck. When Gwaine woke, he was almost relieved to find Merlin asleep on his chest, a long-fingered hand clutching his shoulder tightly. He sighed and gently stroked the mussed hair, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't going to run once he woke. Admittedly, this wasn't how he'd planned on spending his night, but he certainly wasn't going to complain, especially when it had been _Merlin_ who'd initiated it.

There was a soft mumble from about chest level. Gwaine smiled, looking down to see Merlin's tired blue eyes looking up at him. "Hello, dovey," he teased quietly. Merlin smiled sleepily, nestling against him.

"Time's it?" he muttered, turning his head to kiss Gwaine's chest lightly and leaning his head against the hand that was still stroking his hair.

"An hour past dawn," Gwaine replied softly. "Arthur won't be up until much later, I'd wager."

"Mmm," Merlin agreed, shifting. "I need to get up anyway."

"Why?"

Merlin looked at him, amused. "Because, Sir Gwaine, while Arthur won't be up, breakfast is still on the other end of this castle, and I'd really like some eggs."

/

Morris woke to find the other half of the bed empty, and Coriandan gone. He also found Loren staring blankly at him. With a groan, he rolled back over, burying himself in the sheets. "What, Lor?" he asked tiredly, wincing as his back complained mightily from both the too-soft bed and Uther's ministrations last night. He'd probably have bruises- the man was an absolute brute.

"Breakfast's on the table." Loren's voice was whisper quiet- he was the youngest of them, number ten in what Morris thought of as the "Chillingham Line", and three years of torment under an unsympathetic Uther had left him timid and afraid of the world outside the rooms. He was a tall, long limbed man, with blonde hair that was pale and wispy as the clouds. Despite his quiet good looks and seemingly gentle nature, he was the coldest of the three, without Coriandan's passionate fervor or Morris's dry humor. He was a devoted follower of both Chillingham and Uther, which left him to be the balance point between the other two, a position Morris didn't envy.

Morris peeked at him through his lashes. "Really? Thanks."

Loren nodded somberly. "Coriandan left with my Lord and my Liege," he informed him softly. "The list is on the table- it's just basic cleaning."

"Thank you, Lor." Morris sat up, holding his back. "I'll deal with things here today if you have somewhere to go," he offered. Loren smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. None of their smiles did, anymore.

"Thank you."

Five minutes later, Morris was dressed and limping over to the table. Easing himself into a chair, he sighed contentedly as he examined the plate. Loren really was too good for him, even if he was the "Alpha" now. Eggs, bacon fried to a crisp, a tall glass of water with a bit of ice in it from the ice room, and two toasts with butter sat neatly upon it. Grinning, he picked up one of the toasts and bit into it, savoring the taste. The cook belong in heaven- this was _perfect_.

"You know, there's enough for two, and wouldn't you like to taste perfection?" he said without looking around as a soft breeze played with his hair. There was a thud, and the soft tap of leather clad feet as Dom sat across from him, grinning crookedly.

"Don't mind if I do."

Dom, the only other living of the Chillingham line, number 3, former servant to Uther Pendragon, tore into the proffered piece of toast. His eyes shut in ecstasy. "You weren't lying. Delicious," he moaned, leaning back in his chair. Morris smirked and sipped some of the water, eyeing his trainer. Dom was as tall as Loren, standing at about 6 feet and 5 inches, with broad shoulders and a thick, heavily muscled torso. His hair was shoulder length and black as tar, and he had a light beard growing. The oldest of them all, his eyes were a warm golden brown that could turn to ice in a heartbeat. He lived in the lower town now, having left Uther's service after Chillingham had taken him, and wouldn't enter the castle unless he was certain the king was gone. He and Morris got along well, and the two of them were as close of friends as two killers could be. Dom's chosen profession was to educate the middle and lower class in self defense, and all of the kings "Dogs", his servants, were trained by him. He was also a spy on his days off, but those talents he reserved for the "Alpha" of Uther's dogs- Morris, in this case.

"So," he said. "Who'd he take?"

"His name is Merlin-He's Arthur's manservant," he explained, seeing Dom's eye brow go up curiously. "Sweet kid, really innocent though. I feel bad for him- he's quite the unique character."

"Hmm. Think he'll make it?"

Morris's mouth twisted into a smirk. "He's a sorcerer. He'd better."

Dom's eyebrow was rivaling Gaius's for height. "A sorcerer living in Arthur's quarters?"

"Oh, no. In one of his knights- I saw them move in yesterday. They're staying in the Forbidden Wing." Dom was looking at him like he'd grown two heads. Morris smirked. "I did say that he was unique."

/

"How're you feeling?"

Merlin jolted, looking over at Arthur, who'd just come into his bedroom. He'd been practicing with some of the younger knights while Merlin cleaned, and was still dressing his armor. It had been a little disappointing, having him leave when it was the first day they would have been able to spend together, but Merlin had merely sighed. Princes waited for no one.

"I'm fine," he said, feeling oddly wary. Arthur was eyeing him like he was some sort of exhibit, and while that wasn't unusual, he didn't like it.

"Good." Arthur tossed his sword on the table and grinned at him. Merlin instantly took a step backwards at the look in his eyes. It promised trouble.

"You know, Merlin, it's a lovely day outside. You really should go enjoy it."

He sighed, taking the hint. "Stables?"

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "Stables."

/

Gwaine slipped through the doorway and closed it behind him. Leaning on the rough wood, he examined the prince with cool eyes. Arthur returned the stare from where he sat at his table, and gestured for Gwaine to sit. He did so, and picked up the goblet that had been set there with a slightly twisted smile. With a short toast to Arthur, he downed the contents in one swallow, and set it down.

"Four days," Arthur said brusquely. "We have four days to figure out a way to get him away from Chillingham."

Gwaine nodded grimly. "If I find another set of bruises on his body, I might just go crazy," he said quietly. "So. Could we kill him before that happens?"

Arthur's grin was positively predatory.

/

Morris watched from the balcony outside of Uther's rooms as Merlin crossed the courtyard, smiling to himself as a page ran up and handed the exhausted young man a note. Merlin looked surprised, but read it.

"Think he'll come?" Dom asked from the shadows he was hiding in.

Morris chuckled. "Oh, he'll come. His curiosity will be burning him from the inside out." He turned and went back inside, away from the sweltering heat of the day. "I hate summer, especially July," he told Dom, fanning himself with his hand and flopping onto the bed. His bruises weren't as bad as he'd originally thought, and had almost gone away now that mid day had hit. Dom leaned against one of the posts, smiling affectionately at him with unusually perfect teeth.

"And why is that?" He asked him with a smile.

Morris grinned smugly at him and plucked up a pear from the fruit bowl beside the bed. Biting into the green flesh with a crunch, he chewed slowly, savoring its taste.

"Take a guess."

/

When nightfall hit, Merlin began making his way towards the far tower. He'd never been there, but he figured it would be a good idea to get there by the appointed time. Morris's message had been short and cryptic enough to catch his attention.

It had read as follows:

_Merlin; there's a fellow who'd like to meet you tonight. Be at the far north tower after nightfall hits- we'll be on the ramparts on the roof. Tell no one.- Morris _

Admittedly, it wasn't a very good idea to just take off and go meet random people like this, but it was Morris. Not only that, Gwaine and Arthur had been holed up in Arthur's rooms all day, presumably plotting something or other, and Merlin hadn't been inclined to try and get them to tell him what was going on- it wasn't worth the work. Gwaine he could loosen up later, and wheedling it out of him would be easily done.

Gwaine.

Merlin stopped and rested against a wall to keep from keeling over. He'd been resisting thinking about Gwaine all day- more specifically, facing the fact that he was in love with a knight. A noble. Someone who was so out of his league it was reaching astronomical proportions. Someone who could _really_ kiss, none the less- Merlin might have initiated it, but Gwaine had taken over. Merlin was fine with that, but it was just kind of difficult to accept that he was in love with a man. It didn't surprise him, much. He'd never had a really intense passion towards any women except Freya, and in Ealdor there'd been all that fumbling in the dark with Will…

Freya…Will…Arthur. Once upon a time, he'd thought about it.

He buried his head in his hands. Now was really not the time.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself upright, and continued down the hall.

/

The knife at his throat stopped him when he reached the door to the ramparts.

"Don't move," an unfamiliar voice hissed. Merlin swallowed hard, staying still as possible.

Morris stepped into the streams of moonlight that decorated the floor. He scrutinized Merlin for a second then nodded. "You can let him go- it's him."

The knife was removed, and Merlin spun around to see another man step forward. "Who're you?" he asked warily, sidling over Morris who placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Name's Dom, boy."

\

When you wake up with a knife at your throat and a voice whispering that if you move, you'll be slit stem to stern, it's generally a good idea to remain very still and give into their demands. While Gareth (occupation: bandit) was not a man to be taken lightly, he also wasn't a stupid man, and very quietly stood and let the man propel him out of his place by the fire into the darkness of the forest. Once there, he warily turned as the knife was removed. Staring into the darkness, he saw nothing but the outlines of trees lit by the moon. Faint blue light trickled in, but that was all to illuminate the space. It was eerily quiet- no animals rustled about in the undergrowth, no wind stirred the trees.

"Who are you?" he hissed into the darkness, hands fumbling for the knife in his belt. It was gone. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he turned around frantically, fists clenched to attempt some harm.

A prick through the tattered remains of his shirt made him stop short. "You may call me "Your Lordship", or you may be stuck through with your own knife. Chose wisely."

He swallowed hard. "Hello then, your lordship."

"Very good, Gareth," the voice almost crooned to him. It was definitely male.

"How do you know me?" he hissed, angry and afraid.

"I have my ways. Now. I have a job for you, Gareth."

With a soft crunch, the man walked in front of him. The light streamed across his face, and Gareth recoiled in terror at the mask of scars and pockmarked skin, with its red-gold mane that flamed around it. The devil had entered the woods, and Gareth was standing in front of it.

/

"I was the third of Chillingham's little experiments, you see. I was one of the first of the Dogs, in the first set, Uther's first servants. They called us Dogs because we were trained to fight, to hunt, even to kill if necessary. We were the dark ones, the hidden ones. We were there when Chillingham was given his title, and we were there when he returned . Alois and Chauncey were the first to go- they killed themselves, and were replaced by two others. Once they died, I left Uther's service. I refused to return to the castle while he remained inside. I'm the one who the Dogs are sent to for training- and the one who was forbidden on pain of death of warning them," Dom said softly, staring out of the window at the stars that were glittering on the horizon. "And now, with a new king soon to rise, I am to train you as a new Dog once Chillingham's gone- and I am determined to save you."

Merlin lowered himself to the floor. "I see…" He looked at the man warily. "So, you're the only other remaining person besides the current Dogs?"

"Yes. And it's my job to see that you're alive and well after this ordeal." Dom's cool eyes met his. "Now tell me, Merlin. Do you think yourself strong enough to survive this?"

"I'm seriously hoping so."

/

Aden rarely enjoyed the reaction that his face caused, but his scars certainly gave a lasting impression to Gareth. The man cowered away from him, eyes wide as he babbled nonsense. The sparse light from the moon had probably helped as well, though it was still extremely dark. He'd often used this same concept while on the border- the Mercian's called him the _Sacrefarn_, the Scar Devil in their language.

As the man calmed, he smiled beatifically at him. "Tomorrow at noon, the king hunts boar with six attendants, a servant, and myself. Kill all but myself and the king, and I shall see you richly rewarded from Camelot's coffers."

"You want me to kill the King?" Gareth said, stunned. "Tomorrow?"

"I dislike repeating myself," Aden said softly, flicking Gareth's nose with the knife, drawing a bead of blood. "I expect you to kill his attendants and servants, and to do it quickly. I will take the King's blood myself. You won't have to bother yourself with him." He wouldn't have wanted the man too anyway- he wanted revenge and intended to enjoy it.

Gareth nodded slowly, gingerly feeling his nose. "Ye-es. Alright. How much will you pay us?"

Aden named a price that left the man speechless and slumped to the ground, eyes as wide as plates. He smirked at the reaction. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," Gareth said fervently, scrambling over to kiss his boots.

Aden curled his lip in disdain, and stopped the man's hushed thanks with a single gesture. Tossing him his knife, just as silently as he had come, he left, soft boots making no sound as he slipped through the trees, sharp as the knives he carried. It had been surprisingly easy to find the group in this place. They were stupid enough to make mistakes- mistakes enough to actually win. The knights that Uther had brought with him were young and inexperienced, not Arthur's precious commoners, but soft nobleman's sons who enjoyed drink and women too much. Gareth's ragged, starved band, made hungrier still by the promise of so much money, would destroy them in a heartbeat. Coriandan would be more difficult for them to take down- the Dog was fierce when riled, and a deadly knife fighter.

Aden's smile broadened as the lodge came into sight. The hunting lodge that King Uther and his retinue made use of was deep within the forest, nestled against a small lake and a cliff. Solid stone, it was almost a Camelot in miniature, with spires and spines that looked entirely out of place in the forest. Aden liked the place immensely, as it was home to an entire orchard of pears, exceptionally obedient servants, and the cook made very reasonable tarts. Admittedly, there was also the fact that it housed a collection of weapons that made even him drool (his personal collection of weapons was nearly 5 rooms long, and this one was 8), and the extremely useful back entrances that no one seemed to know about that were also a good factor.

Slipping in through one of the doors that wasn't guarded, he merrily traipsed up the stairs and into his rooms.

Life was good, and it was getting steadily better.

/

Morning dawned bright and early for the residents of the lodge. Aden, who'd been up since before then stretching and limbering up (you couldn't just shove a 6'4'' body into a suit of armor and expect it to be loose and easy to manage) was already enjoying a feast of carved pears when Uther bounded into the room. Yes, bounded. It shouldn't have been physically possible for the man to bound, not as old as he was or the gravitas that he carried to allow such a thing, but bound he did, and Aden dropped his pear. (One more reason to hate the man, he thought venomously.)

"Aden! You're already up, I see."

He forced a smile onto his face. _Yes, you pathetic man…_"Indeed. Are you already ready to leave, cousin?"

"When you are. The knights have had the horses saddled, and Coriandan has been choosing weapons- I trusted him to pick something you would like."

As if on cue, Coriandan staggered in, carrying Chillingham's favorite weapon: The Mercian style sword. The thing was positively enormous, longer than the normal hand-and-a-half swords by half a foot and normally wielded only by the tallest, most talented knights. Aden had claimed four in his life, and displayed them prominently in his room as a symbol of his prowess- to take a Mercian sword was to take a life dedicated to the learning of one, and he had endeavored to learn how to use them all. An almost impossible 4 feet of blade with another foot of grip, the thing was heavy and would be razor sharp. This one had an elegantly wrought cross guard and a ruby pommel the color of dried blood. With almost reverent awe, he lifted the 5 foot sword from Coriandan's hands, and drew it from the leather sheathe, marveling at the workmanship. Designs were etched into the steel, the ancient knots of the Old Religion burned into it. Under the guard was the name given to it: Durendal.

This was a sword worthy to kill a king.

He kissed the blade, and sheathed it again, smiling at Coriandan. "You know my preferences well."

"Pardon me if this sounds odd, Aden, but shouldn't you have a spear?" Uther asked, seeming concerned for his safety. "We are hunting boar, after all."

Aden smiled at him. "I relish a challenge."

Uther grinned. "Ah, yes, you always have." He nodded at Coriandan. "Fetch my spear- we ride shortly."

Coriandan bowed and exited.

Aden took the belt, arranging it so that the claymore could hang over his back. The weight was comfortable, and Galatine had felt good in his hand. It would be a pleasure to kill Uther with it. "Shall we go?"

/

The plan went off without a hitch at first. Uther and the company rode through the forest, carrying spears and laughing absently. More than just a few were already drunk on something, Aden noticed with pleasure. They were in the middle of the forest by then, surrounded by gnarled trees and bushes. The area was hilly, perfect for an attack from above, and with a group of men whose only protection would be boar spears…

Aden smiled as a battle cry ripped through the early morning air.

Life really was getting steadily better.


	5. Scavengers Daughter

**Still don't own Merlin.**

**/**

Sunlight streamed into the room, spilling over the bed and making the colors sparkle beautifully. Gwaine opened his eyes to find Merlin's normally occupied spot empty and cold. This was due to the fact that he was asleep on top of him, molded and curled against the contours of his body. It was a nice change from the past three days, where he'd merely slept beside him, barely touching. It appeared he'd finally conquered whatever shyness he had. They'd spent the last few days learning about each other and coming to grips with their relationship. Chuckling softly, Gwaine gently ruffled his hair, rolling so that Merlin slid off. "Hello, darling. Comfortable?"

"I _was_," Merlin mumbled reproachfully without opening his eyes. "But 's too early. Why you 'wake, eh?"

"Because it's dawn, Merlin," he smiled.

Instantly his eyes snapped open. "WHAT?"

Gwaine frowned as Merlin slithered out of bed, frantically grabbing for his clothes. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin snapped, "Maybe because Chillingham's back and the last thing I want is to be on his bad side already this early in the day." Pulling on his jacket, he darted over and kissed Gwaine quickly, looking regretful. "I'll see you later- Arthur's got training today."

That said, he bolted from the room, leaving Gwaine sighing and looking forlornly at the empty space on the bed. "Why," he asked the air dryly, "Why did I have to go and fall for someone who actually works, and has better things to do than lay in bed all day? Why would I do such a thing?"

He could have sworn that the table shrugged.

/

Merlin straightened his jacket and slipped into Chillingham's rooms, turning to close the door behind him and trying not to gnaw on his lip. Immediately, he froze as a cold voice said softly, "You're late, Merlin. You're very late now. I'm not pleased with this. Not. At. All." The cold became ice, leeching into his bones.

Turning around, he saw Chillingham sitting in a chair against the wall, a long sword lying across his lap. Swallowing hard, he pressed himself against the door, feeling the hard wood pressing against his palms. Chillingham watched him with icy eyes, cold and calculating. Merlin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "My lord?" He whispered, locking his legs to keep from running.

"I value several things, Merlin," Chillingham said quietly, standing up. He crossed the room slowly, feet tapping softly on the floor. "I value people who are on time very highly. I value people who don't cower in fear when they know that retribution will be coming, swiftly and surely. And I value people who _don't fail me._" He looked over at a wall. "Coriandan, come here please."

Merlin swallowed hard as a man, tall and brawny, slipped out of the shadows. He'd seen him a few times, enough to know that he was a Dog. One of Uther's servants, standing there like nothing was wrong- and then Merlin remembered. Coriandan might serve Uther, but he was loyal to Chillingham. Brown eyes glowered balefully at him, a frown etched onto a plain, heavy face. Merlin shrank back even further, as if trying to slide into the wood of the door. Coriandan looked away from him to Chillingham, his expression of complete servitude. All he got for his trouble was a vicious rake across a cheek, snapping his head to the side as Chillingham snarled, scarred face distorting into a mask of fury. He remained like that, completely still, his head to the side, until Chillingham snapped at him to focus. Merlin swallowed hard as the Dog straightened, face completely blank- yet there was something just under the surface, a hint of mulish rebellion. Chillingham saw it too.

"Move," he hissed. "I'll deal with you once I'm done with him."

Coriandan slunk over to a corner of the room, huddling in the shadows like a true dog that had been beaten. Chillingham turned his attentions to Merlin, whose legs were attempting to give out. Striding over, he grabbed his chin and yanked him upright.

"Tell me, how does Arthur punish you?" he said softly, his voice crooning and disturbingly sweet. Merlin suppressed a shudder.

"Th-The stocks, normally, my lord," he whispered, resisting the urge to struggle. It would get him nowhere with this man, especially when he was in such a volatile mood.

Chillingham smirked, releasing him. "Remove your shirt, and your boots."

Merlin stared. "Wha-"

The fist that slammed into his stomach sent him sprawling, scraping his hands on the hard stone floor. He cringed in pain, resisting the urge to curl up and pretend that none of it was real.

"I didn't ask you to speak, boy. And I told you to lose that shirt and those boots."

Slowly, painfully, Merlin pulled himself upright and did as ordered, his face going steadily whiter as his anxiety increased dramatically. Chillingham had turned and strode to the window, picking up the sword from where he'd left it on the table. Turning it over in his hands, he slowly fingered the cross-guard.

Once Merlin was finished, he said coldly, "Coriandan, fetch the scavengers daughter."

/

By and large, Coriandan of Tadfield was not a bad person. He'd simply ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in consequence, had found himself fascinated and enthralled by one Lord Aden Chillingham, master of violence. He'd never been on the receiving end of it, per se- he was obedient to a fault, and once his loyalty was taken, there was no going back. All the same, he was not enjoying what he was about to do.

The trunk that held the scavenger's daughter was slid quietly under the huge bed, locked with an impressively large lock that he knew was all show. It was an exceptionally long box- it had to be, to hold the scavengers daughter. The key was inside a cleverly hidden drawer. He grabbed it out and opened the lid, stomach churning as he caught sight of the contents. The box held more than just the scavengers daughter, it held clamps, chains, bloody knives, a long iron that had burned an "A" onto Loren's chest, some other nasty looking instruments that he didn't even want to contemplate, and a collar that he did know the purpose of- strangulation. He'd nearly died thanks to that one and a misplaced word. Shuddering, he dug through the mess and pulled out the daughter, and closed the lid, hiding his distaste.

Dying at his masters hands was not on his wish list.

/

Merlin's stomach dropped as Coriandan reappeared with the strange device.

"Have you ever seen one of these before, Merlin?" Chillingham asked absently, setting the sword on the table again. "This is the scavengers daughter. Lovely invention- it's one of my favorites. They say Cenred came up with it. Man may have been an idiot, but he was an _excellent_inventor. He had exquisite tastes as well…he used to stay with me during the winters if he could get away. We knew each other _quite_ well."

Merlin eyed the thing warily. It was almost A shaped, with a round top, two loops on the side, and two on the bottom, and despite its simplicity, it radiated menace.

"Now, come here. You may as well be started quickly." Chillingham beckoned him closer, and he warily slid away from the door. Coriandan flicked a small lever on the thing, and pulled it open. "Your neck in the large loop, Merlin."

His stomach twisted with anxiety as he did as ordered. With a harsh clink, the thing snapped tight around him, tiny spikes pricking the soft skin.

"And your hands through here… Sit."

Feeling ridiculous, he did as ordered.

"Feet here…"

With a clank, his feet were through, and he was being scrunched into an extremely painful ball. He cried out, startled, and Chillingham's booted foot slammed into his ribs. "Hush, boy. You'll be utterly silent, or I'll extend your time in this thing and your real punishment."

Merlin shuddered, and clenched his teeth.

The next thing he knew, the world was pain, and his throat nearly burst from holding in the scream.

/

Aden really wasn't in a good mood. His attempt to kill Uther had failed miserably, with all of the bandits slaughtered and Uther in an especially violent temper. He'd played the part of the soothing cousin, calming him and keeping him from doing anything that would indicate he was less than alright. The hunt had resumed the following morning, to his disgust, and he was so put out by it that he never bothered to even try to kill the man again. They'd gotten back late last night, and Coriandan had been sent to take care of his needs. He'd simply sent the hulking man to the ante chamber to sleep. Nothing was going to break his mood without some serious pain inflicted on another person, and he wasn't willing to injure Coriandan- the man was almost totally broken now, but he didn't dare fan the tiny flame of rebellion in him, lest it become a full fledged bonfire.

And then…Merlin.

Tension he hadn't known he had left his shoulders as the first line of blood was drawn over the hunched back. The second released even more, and before he knew quite how it had happened, a quivering mass of bloody flesh lay on the floor, eight full whip strokes having torn the flesh to bits.

Letting out breath he couldn't remember holding, his whole form simply relaxed. Tossing the whip on the floor, he strode past Merlin to the door. "I expect you here after dinner tonight. You have other…obligations… to fulfill," he said cheerfully. Yes, he'd feel much better after all of this, added with some training on the grounds with Galatine and dinner. Someone had brought in a boar last night-

His hand was on the door when a soft voice croaked, "…_no…_"

/

It really was a miracle that he could even form a coherent thought, with all of his body telling him that thoughtlessness, preferably in the form of complete and utter unconsciousness where there would be no pain, was the best idea. But through the rush of blood to his ears, the agony and the confusion of it all, he'd managed to understand what Chillingham wanted of him.

And he was _not_ going to let Chillingham cow him into lowering himself to that. He'd survived through so much, and he would live through this, but there was no way in any form of underworld that he would hand over his virginity to this man. So even though it nearly killed him, he lifted his head best he could, summoned noise from the soreness of his throat, and managed one word.

Chillingham slowly turned, staring at him in wide eyed disbelief.

Merlin met his eyes, feeling his magic already beginning work to heal his back and throat. He channeled it to his throat first- he wanted to be able to at least fight verbally.

"What?" Chillingham said slowly, and from the corner where Coriandan was standing there was a soft intake of breath. Everything had gone disturbingly still, the static feeling of the moments just before lightning struck in the air.

"I won't sleep with you," Merlin rasped out, his heart thrashing against his chest as fear nearly overtook him. The consequences of this day could, and probably would, haunt him to the end of time, and he had no doubt that unless he was very careful, he could wind up dead on the Border Lord's floor.

Chillingham stared at him, his face becoming expressionless. They remained that way for a long time, each staring intently at the other as Coriandan looked from one to the other, almost panicked. Finally, Chillingham looked away.

"Release him, and get him the hell out of my sight."

As Coriandan rushed forward, Chillingham said coldly, "I expect you tomorrow, on time. You will also catch up on all the chores I excuse you from today. Now get out, before I lose what remains of my temper."

/

Arthur couldn't say anything. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel anything but impotent rage. And he had no intention of moving any time soon.

Merlin slept with his head on his lap, his eyes fluttering under his lids. Gaius, who was finally free from his rooms, was pressing soft cloths to the wounds and ringing them out in a bucket. Gwaine, pacing the room for the 21st time, was clearly on the verge of either tears or slaughter.

The whole thing felt unreal, as if it was happening to someone else and he wasn't sitting on his bed still in his armor, with a pillow underneath his servants head to protect him from the chain mail. As if… as if he wasn't really there. As if Merlin's back wouldn't have four huge scars running diagonal across it for the rest of his life. The other four had healed themselves as they watched, leaving only welts on the skin. Merlin had crawled to his rooms, which were thankfully close, and Gwaine had found Gaius just as the man with the pox had left.

The sound of a fist slamming into wood snapped him out of his shock with the force of a mace to the head. Looking up, he saw Gwaine crumple to the ground, having punched the door with enough force to splinter the ancient wood. The knight's face was a mask of enraged pain as he cradled his hand to his chest.

"Gwaine?" His voice sounded odd, rusty. He touched it, clearing it a few times. Merlin twitched a little at the noise, but then relaxed back against him. The dream must have changed to a good one, as he wasn't mumbling worriedly any more. A long fingered hand had assumed a grip on his leg that suggested a strength that few knew existed.

"I'll see him dead if it's the last thing I do," Gwaine whispered almost feverishly. "I swear it. I'll rip him to shreds."

"That makes two of us," Arthur said harshly.

Gaius spoke for the first time after starting work on the remaining wounds while he dabbed on some horrid smelling substance. "You must be careful. If Uther suspects anything is out of the ordinary in your treatment of him, he'll probably have Gwaine executed and you punished to the most painful of his abilities. A training accident would be best, I think."

Gwaine and Arthur both stared at the man, open mouthed. Gaius glanced up at them. "What?" He said defensively.

/

When Merlin finally pulled himself out of the darkness of sleep to the real world, he found himself in Arthur's bed, his body swaddled in bandages. Blinking slowly, he smile weakly as Gwaine's anxious face swam into view. "Hullo…"

"Arthur," Gwaine called softly, "He's awake." In a heart-beat Arthur's face was hovering above him, eyes wide and clearly worried. There was a hint of anger still flickering in them though, Merlin registered tiredly.

"How're you feeling?"

Merlin smiled dryly. "Sore. What did you give me for the pain?"

Gaius's voice came from a corner of the room. "I assure you, Merlin, you really do not want to know." His adoptive father strode up to the bed, looking at him with serious eyes. "Are there any more wounds we should be worried about?"

Merlin's throat tightened as he thought of Chillingham. "No, not really. Could- could you bring Morris, King Uther's servant, in here? There's something I need to talk to him about. It's a bit urgent." Gwaine looked unconvinced, and gently smoothed a hand over his head. Merlin reached up, ignoring the twinge in his back, and took Gwaine's hand. Lacing their fingers together, he took a deep breath and looked at Arthur. "Sire, there's something you should know-"

"Gwaine already told me," Arthur interrupted, a hint of a smile on his face. "And before you ask, yes I approve."

Merlin sighed with relief, head lolling onto his shoulder. A tiny bit of tension eased out of him. Gwaine smiled weakly, and kissed his forehead. "I'll go find Morris for you," he said softly. Merlin squeezed his hand weakly.

"Thanks, love."

/

Morris burst into the room with a bang, the wood of the doors taking their second beating of the day. Blue eyes flashing, he stormed over to the bed, and eyed Merlin with a calculating eye.

"How late were you?" he finally asked, calming down a bit. Gwaine and Gaius both glared at him for being so loud, Gwaine resuming his post at Merlin's side. Arthur just sighed and shut the door. He'd long since become accustomed to Morris. The man wasn't around very much, but when he was, it was as if he was on the kings business, and nothing stopped him. Arthur had given up trying a long time ago, and just rolled with the punches sent his way. Morris thoroughly enjoyed this fact, and used it to his advantage whenever possible.

Merlin grinned weakly at him, trying to sit up. Gwaine firmly pushed him back down. "Hello to you too, Morris. I'm not sure-"

"How many lashes?"

Merlin blinked. "Eight…"

"You were eight minutes late. Count yourself lucky you got out of the daughter- he would have kept you in it for eight half hours and demanded you finish everything," Morris interrupted, pulling up a chair. He sat primly in it, crossing his legs with an almost effeminate grace. "How _did_ you get out?"

Merlin shifted uneasily. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Morris eyed him for a moment, and then turned to look at Arthur. The prince was glowering at the wall, still leaning against the door. "Your highness?"

"Yes, Morris?"

"I must ask if you would leave the room for a few minutes," he said calmly. "Merlin and I have a rather sensitive matter to discuss."

Gwaine opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur merely nodded shortly. "Make it fast. Come on, let's give them space." Gwaine's eyebrows furrowed, but Merlin squeezed his hand. With a sigh, the knight stood and almost stormed from the room, followed shortly by a less than pleased looking Gaius. Once the door was closed, Morris looked back at Merlin, one eyebrow raised in an imitation of Gaius.

"Well?"

"He told me that I would have other obligations after dinner and I told him no and he let me go," Merlin said in a rush, and then took a deep breath. "Sorry. I just needed to get that out. What do I do?"

Morris was staring at him, open mouthed. "He _let_you _go?_ Without a fight or _anything?_"

"Um, yes…?

Morris stared off into the distance, dazed. "He must be getting old," he mused aloud. Merlin blinked a few times, bewildered. Morris's eyes snapped back to him with frightening intensity. "You did the right thing. Don't worry about Chillingham tonight. I'll deal with him." Seeing the concern on Merlin's face he smiled and patted his cheek. "You heal up and let me worry about him. I'll see to it that he's in no mood to hurt you tomorrow, alright?"

"A-alright, but how-"

"Sorry Merlin, have to run. Uther's expecting me for hawking today," Morris said briskly, mind already churning with plans. "And don't worry… I'll be fine."

_Aden on the other hand…_ he thought with a grin as he swept out of the room toward the mews, _Aden will be getting a surprise._

/

Aden lifted his goblet and drank deep, hoping beyond hope that the extremely watered down wine that Uther was serving would help ease his head ache. He'd spent nearly 5 hours on the practice grounds sparring with the young knight named Lancelot, and it _hurt_. He hadn't met that good of a swordsman since… well, it was a long time, in any case. He was sore, and his head hurt from having a sword connect with his helm- not fun. So here he was, breaking his rule about not drinking, all because he wasn't feeling as well as he would like.

He really _was_ getting old.

Sighing, he looked around the banquet hall. Everywhere was talk and laughter, women flirting and the knights laughing uproariously. It was a bittersweet scene for him, reminding him of the Kendral Fief during the winter months. The castle wasn't nearly as large as Camelot, so plenty of people actually lived in the banquet and great halls when they couldn't sleep out on the large covered porches outside. Being a border lord meant constant vigilance and complete control of everyone in the town- unless you knew everyone by name and relation, a spy could easily slip in. Kendral Fief was well protected, and in an ideal place to attack others, but it was also home to nearly half of the town when not under siege. When under siege, the entire town was there. It wasn't always pleasant, but there was always something interesting going on.

"My lord?"

His reverie was broken as hypnotic blue eyes met his. _Morris_. Of course. He really should have been expecting this. Uther knew full well what Aden thought of Morris, what had happened them between them, and would have ordered him to wait on him hand and foot. Just one more reason to hate the bastard. He cleared his throat, thinking in annoyance that'd he have to talk to Uther about this. "Yes?" He was somewhat relieved it came out masculine sounding, and not a squeak.

"I'm to fill your wine, my lord."

The man's tongue turned the words into something perverse and disturbingly twisted. But then he'd always had that talent… AUGH! NO! Morris had bent over, hair flying everywhere, neck too close, scent assaulting his nose. He'd nearly conquered the memory of this man, and how easily he'd been toyed with, but when those eyes met his, he was undone in a second. Ever since the first time he'd met Uther's pet whore, he'd been entranced. The man was completely ordinary looking, but once you met him, you fast became addicted. Aden Chillingham did not love, but he was madly in lust with this man. And he hated him all the more for it.

Morris smirked at the look on his face. "_I'll see you later,"_he breathed in his ear as he continued down the line.

Aden shuddered, half anticipation, half rage.

/

It was late once he returned to his rooms, moonlight streaming in to decorate the floor in blue. Pulling off the long leather jacket he'd worn to dinner, he tossed it absently aside, and watched as Morris emerged from the shadows. He'd changed into an overlarge creamy shirt, his feet bare. The long pants were a bit too loose, maybe Loren's. All the same, as the light hit him, Aden's hands clenched, the knuckles going white and his nails biting into his hand. The man looked too innocent for his own good. It was a pathetic fake compared to his real life.

"I'm here to make a deal," Morris said softly.

"And what might that be?"

"Leave Merlin be. I'll take his place for you during the night."

Aden's mouth curved mockingly. "You? I thought Uther kept you, of all his dogs, on a short leash."

Morris laughed harshly, his smile just as mocking as Aden's. "If you think I'm controlled by his whims, you're sadly mistaken. You mentioned once that if I'd been the queen, I would have ruled Albion in a day. I rule Uther, and in turn, myself. Besides," he said, stepping forward and over to Aden, reaching up to smooth his shirt, "You're Uther's beloved cousin. You think he'll begrudge me pleasuring you?"

Aden's mouth curved into a snarl. "And what of Merlin? Why shouldn't I take him?"

"The boy hasn't ever been with anyone. You'd kill him, you brute." Morris's smile had turned to a mixture of disgust and affection.

"So you want to spare him from me?" Aden asked, reaching up to grab a fistful of Morris's hair and pull it back, exposing the throat. "Is that all? All in the twisted corners of what shard of soul you have left, that is all you want is for me to keep from bedding the pathetic creature? You ask for so little. That's not like the Morris I know. You _demanded_ of me. You took. You stole. And what you wanted? You had it. Uther watched you from the day you stepped onto the street as a whore. He watched you tangle his knights around your fingers, and cup the ladies in the palm of your hand. He wanted you while Arthur was just a child, and he took you. I watched you as well, and I wanted you as well, but I wanted you _dead_for what you did, for what you let Uther become_._ I watched you bring him back to life, I watched you become the queen in all but name. I was trapped in the North while he did all of this. And then, when he finally sees fit to hand you over to me, all those years ago, I tore you apart, and he loved you all the more."

He watched the Adam's apple bob as Morris swallowed and said firmly, "You know so little of love, Aden. If you think Uther ever loved, you're wrong. Not me. Not Dom, not Alois, not even Igraine. He's nothing but a machine."

"And then what am I?"

"A machine with emotions."

Aden flung him backwards, shaking. Morris easily caught his balance, and looked at him with somber eyes. They stared at each other for a long time, silent and full of their own inner pain. Aden finally sighed. "You will have your deal, Morris."

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Thank you."

Silence again. They simply stood there, looking at each other, unsure of what to do now. It was Morris who took the first step forward, and pulled the unresisting lord into a soft, gentle kiss.

"No more of this talk," he murmured. "Hate me, hurt me, use me however you see fit."

"I hate you," Aden whispered, reaching up to stroke the cheekbone. "So much."

"I hate you too, my lord."

That brought a twisted smile to his lips. "Then let us to bed."

/

**No, the scavengers daughter is not a true medieval torture device. It was designed shortly after the rack, during the reign of Henry the VIII. (That'd be the one with all the wives he killed off.)**

**Written to Back Against the Wall by Cage the Elephant, Alejandro by Lady Gaga, and The Flower Duet (Lakmé) by Leo Delibes, but not necessarily in that order.**


	6. To The Victor The Spoils

**As ever, I sadly do not own Merlin.**

**Written to Love Me Dead by Ludo, Go Computer by Holmes, Cell Block Tango from "Chicago", This Too Shall Pass by OK Go, and Whistle For The Choir by The Fratellis.**

**/**

"I have to go."

"Can't we just hide you in a closet? Or have Arthur take you hunting? After all, he IS the prince, he can do what he wants…_and_ you could stay with me for part of the day…"

"Gwaine. Hands off. I have to get downstairs."

Sigh. "It isn't even dawn yet, Mer."

"Since when do you call me Mer- Auch! No!"

"Your body's saying yes…"

All Gwaine got was a firm smack on the head for his troubles. Sighing, he watched as Merlin slowly rolled out of bed, taking a moment to adjust to the pain before he stood. Slowly padding on almost silent feet across the floor, he pulled out a shirt from the wardrobe and looked pleadingly at the man still lounging in bed. Gwaine smiled affectionately, though it was tinged with pain for his Merlin. Rising, he waved a hand, and the candles lit. A major benefit of the rooms they were in was that it wasn't required that you know magic to make it work.

He walked over and helped him pull the shirt on. Silence fell for a second, until calloused, long fingered hands slid up his chest and they leaned in for a kiss.

The candles danced happily.

/

Once Merlin had managed to get down the twisting stairs that led to the forbidden wing, slipped out of the doors, and had started working his way to Chillingham's rooms, he finally became nervous. He'd successfully managed to stave it off all through the night, his body healing in overtime (something he was very happy about) and Gwaine holding him gently having helped immensely. Arthur's temper had been surprisingly cool last night, something that had helped as well. Merlin's anxiety always shot through the roof when Arthur was angry- he'd been caught in enough raids to know that when leaders got mad, people got hurt, often very badly.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door to Chillingham's rooms open.

It was dark, with only one curtain pushed back. The faint stream of pre-dawn light streamed across the bed, illuminating not one, but two people tangled in the sheets. He froze as he recognized Morris's blonde curls resting on the brutally scarred chest of none other than Lord Aden Chillingham himself. Wary, he slowly inched backwards toward the door, determined to leave them to their own devices. This definitely wasn't his business in any way, shape or form. His self-preservation instincts going into overdrive, he reached for the door handle.

"Stay."

Chillingham's voice, a little muddled by sleep, still cut through his brain and pulled the right levers. He became statue still in a fourth of a heartbeat, unsure as to what to do. Morris's voice growled a bit, an undecipherable bit of confusing sounds. Chillingham evidently did, and groaned something back. The blonde rolled off and buried his face in the pillows as Chillingham wiggled upright, looking affectionately at the much smaller man. Ruffling the curls he looked over at Merlin, smiling pleasantly. "Good morning, Merlin. If you'd bring up-" he paused and looked at Morris. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Mumblemumble MUMBLE mumble.

Chillingham smiled affectionately, and leaned over to kiss the crown of Morris's head. "Very well." He looked back up at Merlin, all but beaming. "Pears for me, and strawberries with cream for him. Bring the pears out to the training grounds, Arthur's been grumbling about not being able to spar with me."

Merlin resisted the urge to bolt from the room, instead walking calmly out. After shutting the door, he stuffed his neckerchief in his mouth and whimpered quietly for a minute, trying to understand when his life had been so violently tossed upside down. Once that was done, he felt a bit better, straightened up, and went to go for breakfast.

/

"When, exactly, did you plan on telling me that you were not only one of his former servants, you've also _slept_with him before?" Merlin demanded as he reentered the room from running the pears out to Chillingham, who was being eyed up by what appeared to be a very angry Arthur and Gwaine. Morris grinned at him from where he was still laying tangled in the sheets, lazily running a hand through impressively ruffled hair.

"Never, actually. Things just sort of worked out this way."

Merlin mumbled a few choice words under his breath, and with an exaggerated bow that pulled his wounds, set the plate on the bed. "Your strawberries, my lord."

"Ah, thank you, lowly page. The greater lord, however, left you a list. I'll help until two hours to mid day."

Merlin sighed in relief, and began to reluctantly sweep the floor.

/

Aden had never bothered to worm his way into his "nephew's" affections. He hadn't seen the point of the exercise that most of Uther's lapdogs went through to try and befriend the short tempered Prince if he was only going to kill him later. He hadn't brought him toys when he was young, he hadn't sparred with him unless asked, and generally avoided him like the plague. However, it looked like he wasn't going to be able to do that for much longer if Arthur kept glowering at him like that.

"Lord Chillingham," he said shortly, acknowledging him with only the smallest of nods. Aden watched him with narrowed eyes as the Prince passed, chain mail glittering malevolently in the dawn light. It was almost red this morning, a pale pink that stained the grass a strange mixture of colors, and the sword Arthur carried was as razor edged as his own.

"Your highness."

The visors went down. The blades went up.

And the clash of steel rang through the cool air.

/

Morris watched from the window, frowning.

"How's it going?" Merlin asked from where he was bundling the sheets off the bed. It was no small task- the sheer smell alone was making him dizzy, and a king size bed is not something easily dismissed as simple to fix and clean.

"Arthur's doing quite well, but Aden- ah, Lord Chillingham, has managed to get in a few hits. Nothing serious, mind you, just testing him I think. Poor thing…"

"Lord Chillingham?" Merlin asked, incredulous. He'd watched the man spar with Lancelot and nearly win.

"Oh no- Arthur. He's going to be all sorts of sore by the end of the day if this keeps up. Chillingham will rip him to shreds once he gets properly warmed up." The figures on the haha danced around each other, swords shimmering in the early light. Morris smiled coldly, watching the taller of the two. Judging by the movements, he was more relaxed than ever, playing with Arthur for fun. Stepping away from the glass he wandered over to the wardrobe and pulled out the huge riding boots Aden normally wore. Looking over them with a critical eye he tutted disapprovingly. "Look at this, just look at this! Perfectly good leather nigh on ruined the way he rides. Just shoves his feet in, never mind that his irons aren't very well lathed down or smoothed."

Merlin straightened from where he'd been dumping the sheets into the arms of a disgusted female servant who'd come to collect the laundry. "His boots? I hadn't even thought about those!" Scurrying over, he looked them over askance. "Good grief," he muttered, looking into the wardrobe. Spotting a red box, he reached up and pulled it down.

"What's this doing in there?"

/

Sweat trickled in rivulets down Arthurs back as he fended off a particularly vicious swing and returned in kind. The sun was finally over the horizon, and if he wasn't careful it would be in his eyes soon- worse, he knew that Chillingham wasn't even really trying yet. Arthur was just a little diversion, a fly in the soup of his morning. He'd never bothered with him, seeming contemptuous whenever Uther had tried to get them to interact. He never met his eyes, shied away from him like a skittish horse, and, as far as he knew, had never spoken his name in his presence. For his part, Arthur had hated him from the start. The huge Border Lord had raised the hair on his neck from the first time Uther had handed his son to his cousin.

A rapid parry and thrust gave him a seconds advantage, and he surged forward, with every intent to kill the man.

A second later he was on his back, without his sword, his helm off, and multiple people talking anxiously over him. Gwaine was there as well, looking very annoyed and partly amused.

"What-" he croaked out, confused.

"Chillingham threw you nearly 8 feet with one parry," Gwaine replied dryly. "I've never seen anyone move that fast. Are you sure you don't have some racehorse in your blood somewhere?"

Arthur gave him a nasty look, and pushed himself slowly upright. "Sword," he demanded, holding out his hand.

"Yes, about that…"

Two servants came up and handed him the blade- in two pieces. Chillingham's sword had gone straight through it, not even sharding it in the process. Staring in openmouthed amazement, he looked up Gwaine, who was still smiling with that infuriatingly laughing look. Waving the hilt at him, he snapped, "Your turn."

Gwaine grinned. "My pleasure."

/

The box was sitting innocently on the table. It really didn't deserve the intense scrutiny it was being subjected to, but it was in no position to complain. The fox carving on the top sat perfectly still, forever frozen in its pace, grabbing at a flying bird. Red lacquer gleaming in the light, it had no clue that a large stick was coming towards it at top speed.

Morris poked it.

"And how, exactly, was that supposed to tell us anything about it?" Merlin asked dryly. Morris glowered.

"Sometimes he sets up traps. I just wanted to make sure it wouldn't burst into flames or anything."

Their attention returned to the box.

"It looks pretty ordinary," Merlin said simply, and shrugged it off, returning to the boots he was subjecting such an angry glare too. Morris huffed, and continued eyeing the box.

/

Gwaine stepped up to the huge Border Lord, the hilt of his sword being caressed by fingers long enough to strangle, and smiling with a lazy, half asleep look. "Care to give me a try, my lord?"

Chillingham's face twisted into a parody of a smirk, his scars pulling his face in multiple directions and making him look positively evil. "Sir Gwaine, isn't it? Certainly- Arthur provided plenty of warm up for me." Gwaine simply smiled, ignored the fact that his heart was twisting rather badly by now, and lifted his sword. Chillingham's eyebrow rose dramatically. "No armor?"

Gwaine's lazy smile gained a hint of an edge. "Nope. I prefer simplicity."

Chillingham's eyes narrowed, then he smiled broadly. "Very well. Let us be on equal footing then."

/

"Your boy's fighting mine," Morris announced from where he'd returned to the window. "It's quite a sight, you ought to come and watch." Merlin straightened with a wince, holding his back if only to keep from falling over for the fourth time in as many minutes. The pain was getting worse as the day wore on, and those words hadn't helped.

"What?"

"Gwaine. He and Aden are fighting without armor and both swinging very sharp swords around like the masculine idiots they both are," he said absently. "Oh, that looked painful."

Merlin flew to the window, leaning out to see the two figures. Gwaine had just landed a hit on Chillingham's side, the blade glittering with a hint of red as he swung out of the way, parrying a ferocious swing that then threw him backwards. Merlin cringed, heart squeezing. Gwaine's form was dwarfed by Chillingham's bulk, a terrier against a hound.

"What is he doing?" he muttered furiously, pushing away from the window. "He'll get himself killed."

"Not on the grounds- Uther wouldn't be able to overlook that, even if his beloved cousin killed his least favorite knight. There would be painful repercussions." Stepping away, he absently ran his fingers over the top of the box.

_Click._

/

By the time Uther had sauntered out to the training grounds, Arthur was nearly incoherent with rage. Gwaine, Perceval, Leon, himself, and a practically unconscious Elyan had all been beaten by a man almost double their age, and he was still no closer to killing the man than he was when he'd started the day. Furious, he was behaving so violently more than 8 of the minor knights had been forced to restrain him. Gwaine finally forced himself to go and drag Arthur off as the man had nearly started screaming insults at his own …uncle? Something. It simply wasn't safe in any case, and he was no more going to let Arthur get himself killed by a relative then let him kill Chillingham on his own.

Uther watched as his son was pulled off of the field with mild interest, glancing over at Aden with a smile. Aden was smirking.

"Well done."

"Thank you." Aden leaned on his sword, watching as Gwaine forced Arthur into the castle. He didn't even seem winded from the ordeal, and the slight scratch that Gwaine had given him was already scabbed over.

Uther looked over at him, interested. He wondered how they fared on the border, if the soldiers were all as strong as his cousin, and then, unfortunately, an idea struck him. "You know, Aden- when was the last time I visited Kendral?"

"Oh, I'd say about 20 years or so."

"Lovely. I'll begin packing at once!"

"…What?"

/

"It's poison," Loren said gloomily, pointedly ignoring Merlin. Morris frowned, moving over too look at the powder a little closer. They'd gone to the Dog's Quarters off of Uther's chambers, and Loren's room had been commandeered for study of the vial. The youngest of the Dogs was Uther's poison tester (and creator, according to some of the nastier rumors), and so had been the natural person to ask. Merlin wasn't sure what to make of the perpetually depressed man, who'd done nothing but ignore his presence from the start.

"You're certain?" Morris asked, anxious.

"Positive," he sighed. Standing up, he sighed again. "I have to go to the kitchens- Lunch is going to be difficult to deal with today."

He slouched out of the room, sighing tiredly as he went.

Merlin looked over at Morris, who was examining the vial. "Is he always like that?"

"Always," Morris confirmed. "He doesn't say much either- he must like you. That's the longest set of sentences he's spoken in months."

Merlin's eyebrow did a decent impersonation of Gaius's. "Riiight. Well, let's get the vial back before Chillingham notices."

/

By the time Aden returned to his rooms, he was thoroughly pleased with everything that had taken place in the morning hours. Not only was Uther walking straight into Kendral, his own territory, he was doing it willingly and with a smile on his face. It would be ridiculously easy to kill him and Arthur there- the Prince had never been to Kendral, and so he was coming along as well. Whistling happily, he all but floated into his room. He'd beaten five knights, gotten Uther and Arthur precisely where he wanted them, and he'd gotten a scratch that would, if he was lucky, only add to the scars that were piling up on his ribcage.

Merlin was sitting at the table, resolutely working on his boots. Aden beamed at him. "_Good_ morning Merlin. How have things been? No problems, I hope!"

"N-no, my lord. Are… are you feeling alright, my lord?"

"Never better!" Spinning around, he sighed in contentment. "Have you ever been to the North, Merlin?"

"Prince Arthur and I have passed through the Mercian border a few times, but I've never been able to see any of the fief's, my lord."

"You will within the week!" Aden began stripping off his mail, positively ecstatic. Throwing it on a heap on the bed he sat across from Merlin, who was still focused on the boots.

"My lord?"

"We're going to Kendral!"

/

"Kendral Fief? As in, the Fief that Chillingham owns? The most dangerous section of border in the whole country, right in the corner with Cenred's kingdom and Mercia? And Uther wants to go on _vacation_ there? Has he well and truly lost his mind this time?" Gwaine exploded from where he was laying like a lump on the top of the bed.

"Quite possibly," Merlin said dully from where he was laying on top of Gwaine. Wiggling around, he made himself a bit more comfortable and considered how much to tell him about the vial and the box. Biting his lip, he finally said, "Gwaine… We found poison in Chillingham's rooms today. What would he be doing with something like that? He's not really power hungry, as far as I can tell-"

Gwaine snorted, running a hand through Merlin's hair. "If a man beats another within an inch of their life because they were slightly late, I think it's safe to say that they're obsessed with control. Power and control are virtually the same thing in this instance, and if he's that particular about his servants, well… He probably wants security in the event someone tried to stop him."

"Mmm…" Merlin managed, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. "I hope you're right."

They lay in complete silence, absorbing each other's presence with slow movements and lazy swirls of fingers. Finally, Merlin cracked his eyes open, something that had been bothering him for a while making itself known. Reluctantly, he realized that they had no choice- it was going to have to be talked about. Either that or he was going to be paranoid for the next week or so.

"Gwaine?" he asked hesitantly, rolling off and sitting cross legged next to him.

"Yes?" the knight replied, looking up at him with a hint of confusion. "What is it?" Sitting up, he reached out and smoothed his hand over Merlin's cheek. Merlin caught it, leaning into the touch, before reluctantly pulling away.

"Gaius said that I'm free to come back to the tower now that the man with the pox is gone. He told me I should move back in tomorrow."

Gwaine's heart sank. "Oh?" he tried to say it lightly, but knew he didn't succeed. Merlin looked miserable.

"What are we going to do?"

"About…"

"Us."

Silence fell. Merlin's eyes were trying very hard not to show their anxiety and fear, Gwaine noticed, but they were failing horribly. Smiling, he leaned forward and pulled him into a soft, loving kiss. Merlin resisted for a second, then relaxed, letting Gwaine pull him in close and lave attention on his mouth.

"I'll have you as long as you want me, love," he murmured when they finally separated, and Merlin sighed in relief. "So you're free to stay as long as you wish…though we might want to tell Gaius that you'll be moving."

They fell asleep with their fingers wound tightly together.


	7. Birds of a Feather, sort of

**As ever, I don't own Merlin.**

**Written to 1985 by Bowling For Soup, Use Me by Hinder, Dr. Feel Good by Rania, and Bliss by Muse. As always, not necessarily in that order.**

**/**

It was turning into a blistering hot day by the time the group headed out of Camelot- Uther and Chillingham rode in front, followed by Arthur and his knights, with the three Dogs, Gaius, and Merlin bringing up the rear and the carts of luggage close behind. The sun was high overhead, the gnats were buzzing with all the intensity of a storm, there were no clouds in sight to shade them, and Gwaine was most definitely not in a good mood. He'd nearly come to blows earlier with Elyan after what was supposed to be a joke turned sour, and had snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him. He was slouched in his saddle now, rein's loose in his hand and eyes glowering. The horse clearly had no patience with this, and had developed a murderous gleam to its eye, probably plotting the best way to dispose of its unfortunate rider. Arthur, seeing this, fell back to ride alongside him. Brown eyes flicked up to see him, and then returned angrily to the road.

"Did you get in a fight with Merlin or something?" Arthur said quietly, if a bit tensely.

"No."

"Did Merlin get in a fight with you?"

"No!"

"Then what's wrong with you?" he demanded, glaring ferociously at Gwaine, whose head snapped up. The two glowered at each other for a minute, and then Gwaine huffed in annoyance.

"You get just as buggered when you don't see Gwen often."

Arthur looked confused. "Merlin's not 10 yards away-" then it clicked. "Ah," he smirked, thoroughly pleased. "You're in such a fit because you can't ride with him and you have to be up here."

"Brilliant deduction, my lord. Pray continue, I'd love to have an excuse to injure you."

Arthur laughed, grinning. "Alright, I _won't_ give you permission to go back and ride with him so as to help protect the rear."

Gwaine's jaw dropped, and he grinned. "Really?"

"Go, you idiot."

Gwaine's horse was abruptly wheeled, and broke into a flat gallop, totally missing the smirks and grins from the knights riding its friends.

/

"Your boy's coming back here," Morris announced, looking amused and nudging Merlin with his foot. Merlin immediately perked up from where he'd been dejectedly swaying in the saddle, looking up to see a very determined knight coming towards them at top speed. A huge smile immediately broke across his face, and he sighed, feeling relieved.

Gwaine reined in the horse just before it hit Coriandan's, and beamed at Merlin. "I'm to come and help guard the rear."

"Well then," Morris said brightly, Loren rolling his eyes and Coriandan sighing in annoyance, "We'll just leave you to it- We'll ride farther up."

"We will?" Coriandan smirked, glancing over at the two who were already practically misty eyed.

"Yes, we will. Gaius, if you'd join us?"

The physician shook his head at the duo, smiling. "Of course."

/

The day only improved as it went on. Lord Chillingham was all but skipping about in the fresh air, the knights had somehow learned how to play tag on horseback, Uther was making a daisy chain with a very amused Gaius's help, and Arthur had fallen back to talk with his father's Dogs, having never properly met them before. The trio was understandably surprised by the visit, and Morris was clearly wary of the Prince he'd only spoken to in passing. Loren, on the other hand, was enthusiastic about something for the first time in months and talked easily with him. Coriandan just watched in amusement. Merlin and Gwaine rode close together, legs brushing every so often, and smiling the secret smiles of those in love. At some point Gwaine reached out and they linked fingers loosely, swinging back and forth. Gwaine's horse developed an interest in Merlin's, and was forever nibbling at its new friend's neck.

It was, in short, a nearly perfect day for everyone.

Then, it was time to camp for the night, and things got ever so slightly awkward. Uther had insisted upon having tents, as he didn't care for sleeping on the ground without some sort of cover.

Arthur was the one who noticed it first- The knights had a huge group tent, the Dog's had their tent, Uther and Gaius were sharing, and Chillingham was sleeping in a tree for unknown reasons. He had a tent as well, but Merlin did not, and after talking with the Dogs he was aware of their ideas of nobility and had no intention of letting rumors escape about Merlin especially with Gwaine in the picture- It would be cruel. Biting his lip, he looked over at the two. Merlin was trying to fend off Gwaine with a tent stake as he helped the Dogs set up Uther's tent, which coaxed a smile out of him, (and most of the rest of camp, he noticed). And then it hit him.

_Perfect._

"Gwaine! A word, if you please!"

Surprised, Gwaine turned and promptly got thumped on the head by Merlin, who looked utterly unrepentant. After smiling goofily at each other for a few seconds, he trotted over and grinned like an oversized puppy at Arthur- you know, the huge i-am-so-helpless-and-adorable-please-love-me-and-take-me-home-please-oh-please-oh-_please_ look. Arthur sighed, unable to keep from smiling.

"You're beyond help," he informed him, shaking his head. Gwaine beamed.

"I know. Isn't it great?"

Arthur simply smiled. "Alright, you're spending the night with me."

As Gwaine opened his mouth to protest, eyes wide, Arthur continued, "It wouldn't be right for just Merlin and me to be alone, right?"

Instant understanding flooded Gwaine's face and a huge smile split it. "Exactly. Besides, it's a small tent for so many knights- I'd be doing everyone a favor."

Arthur hadn't thought of that. Impressed, he nodded regally. "You may want to set up your bedding soon." Waving him away, he forced himself not to grin like an idiot when Gwaine all but flew over to Merlin, wrapping an arm around his waist and murmuring something in his ear.

/

Merlin went to bed early that night, and Gwaine shortly thereafter, but Arthur stayed up talking and laughing with the knights and his father, who was in an exceptionally good mood. Chillingham had already clambered up into his tree, and was snoring loudly, and Gaius had complained that as an old man he was in need of his rest, but they passed the time together happily, joined by the Dog's later on. It was late when everyone finally split up, and when Arthur slipped into his tent he somehow wasn't surprised to see Merlin dead asleep, his shirt folded neatly nearby and bandages removed, a scant two days after it had happened testifying of his magic's healing ability. Four broad purple scars criss-crossed his back, interrupted by where Gwaine's hand rested. They lay together under the covers, Merlin's head rising and falling with Gwaine's slow breaths. Arthur watched them for a moment, only to realize that Gwaine was watching him; he jumped, clutching at his heart. Gwaine grinned, and gestured with his head at the already made up bed roll on Merlin's other side. Arthur mouthed a "thank you", and slipped off his boots.

He was almost asleep when a hand fumbled over to him and flopped on his arm. Annoyed, he cracked open his eyes to see Merlin had turned onto his side, Gwaine's arm over his waist, and was trying to pull him closer. Mildly amused, he reached out and cupped Merlin's face. Instantly he relaxed, nestling against it. Gwaine peeked over his shoulder, and grinned at the surprised look on Arthur's face.

"Clingy, isn't he?"

Arthur smiled, oddly comforted by the fact that Merlin wanted him nearby. Moving closer, he laughed softly as Merlin got a fistful of his shirt and clearly had no intention of letting go. Gwaine smiled, and laid back down, relaxing. Things were as they should be.

/

Everyone was in a frenzy to get to Kendral before noon, and with three Dogs hassling him (Loren having decided that Merlin deserved to get some muscle from heavy lifting, Morris lazily pointing out various things that needed to be properly packed, and Coriandan simply growling at him for getting in the way), Merlin was practically asleep on his feet by the time they were ready to leave. Gwaine hauled him onto the horse, and mounted his own, leading it so that Merlin could sleep in the saddle.

Arthur finally dropped back after listening somewhat patiently to Uther complaining about the lack of sleep he'd had to ride beside Merlin and Gwaine. Merlin was still asleep, head lolling on his chest. They rode in companionable silence for a while, until Merlin finally stirred and slowly opened his eyes, yawning widely.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Waz goin on?" Merlin mumbled, looking around with eyes still sleep coated. "Where're we?"

"Just shy of the borders into Kendral," Gwaine told him. "You've slept almost halfway there."

"Which reminds me, _Mer_lin, why do you have such a clingy obsession when you sleep?"

"Clingy?"

Arthur's retort was drowned out by Uther's cry as a large group of people dropped from the trees into the center of the path. They were dressed in black leathers, with black cotton veils stretched around the bottom of their mouths and tall boots to their knees. Wide, curved swords gleamed on their backs, and they carried no shields. In the front was a tall, slender young man with long, dark brown hair that fell to his waist. Feathers were braided heavily through it, his dark, storm gray eyes, heavily accented with kohl, glaring at them through the wild locks. He alone was unveiled, and was sans shirt, revealing a variety of scars that, rather from detracting from the wild beauty he exuded, added to it.

"Buregatin," Merlin hissed, wide-eyed and now thoroughly awake. "They're a tribe out of Cenred's kingdom- the Blood-River Clan is what their name translates too. The one in front is a _porvan-torn_, a prince in their tongue- I've seen people like him when they come through Ealdor. The men wear veils to symbolize their devotion to their leader rather than appearance, the women wear masks that cover the top half of their face-"

"Are they a threat?" Arthur demanded, pulling out his sword.

"Possibly, but they aren't attacking… the _porvan-torn_'s a bit young to be leading them in an attack, too."

Chillingham rode forward, waving them all back. Strangely enough the man was smiling widely, and waving at the shirtless man. Stunned, the group watched as the Buregatin and their leader stood, smiling broadly at him. Dismounting, Chillingham and the man hurried over to each other, and to the great and everlasting shock of the knights, the slim man hugged the huge Border Lord.

"My lord, welcome home," the man said, releasing Chillingham. "Griflet is on duty on the other side- Moiran's raiding party may be showing up this weekend out of Mercia, so he's been checking to see that all is secured. I brought the guard to greet you and your guests early. Lady Arianne of Wyverns Aerie says that there may be another Wyvern attack soon, so we came to help escort you." His voice was low and sensual, not unlike Chillingham's in timbre and style.

"Thank you, Kestrel." Turning, Chillingham waved them closer. "Uther, I have someone you must meet. This is one of the foster boys I have with me, Kestrel of the Buregatin clan that we made the treaty with, oh, 8 or so years ago. The queen, Susattenare, sent him and this set of guards as a good will token to us, and to have me train the boy. The other is Griflet of Wyvern's Aerie, Lady Arianne's boy. Ever since Don died, he's been training at Kendral while she handles Wyvern's Aerie."

"Ah, yes, you mentioned them the last time we visited." Uther rode forward, and nodded at him. "A pleasure to see you."

"The pleasure is mine, King Uther," Kestrel said smoothly, with a smile that showed a little too much tooth. Arthur's skin crawled at the resemblance he bore to Chillingham at that moment.

"Well, we've got to get to Kendral. Griflet should be back soon- patrol never takes him too long. Kestrel, if you would take the knights and servants up to the castle, I want to show Uther the aqueduct we've created at the lake."

"Oh, nonsense Aden!" Uther interrupted. "I'd love to get settled in first."

Kestrel nodded, looking back at the Buregatin. "_Shachae, le corvanme mackren Kendral. Heish_!"

The group nodded, and slipped soundlessly into the trees, Kestrel following and reappearing with an enormous black horse. Sliding on bareback, he looked back, straight into Arthur's eyes. His skin crawled at the slow smile the man gave him, a liquid, seductive grin lighting the sensuous mouth.

"You're doomed," Merlin muttered.

/

Set on top of a jagged set of cliffs surrounded by forest, Kendral's castle was an oppressive thing, the stones dark with age and the walls high and foreboding. The village was below it, nestled in the forest, the houses small and closely confined. The central keep of the castle was a tall square that rose a full four stories into the air. A solitary, tattered flag hung from the top- Chillingham's personal shield; a blood red closed fist on a black field. There was a haha around the back, shielding a lawn where a set of knights and Buregatin soldiers were in the process of training. Coming up around the back of the castle, the group entered to see a tall, broad shouldered young man with rich red-gold hair to the middle of his back speaking to a tall, blonde Mercian in blue and silver livery that had clearly seen better days. The red head did not look pleased to be doing so.

"Griflet," Chillingham called, and the red-head turned sharply to see who'd called for him. Nodding to the Mercian, Griflet strode toward them in long, powerful strides, and Arthur realized the man was easily as tall as Chillingham, maybe taller. Kestrel slithered off of the monstrous black horse, jogging over to him. They conferred while walking for a second, Griflet's eyebrows going up for a few seconds as he glanced at Uther, Kestrel talking quietly to him. Finally the much taller man nodded and straightened, Kestrel darting away into a doorway set along one of the thick walls- probably entrance to the barracks. The walls were clearly part defense, part housing. The horse snorted and followed the direction its master had taken.

"Lord Chillingham, welcome home," Griflet said smoothly as he approached and got within hearing range. He was, like Kestrel, quite handsome, but his face was already scarred, a long line marring his right cheekbone, stark white. His eyes were also storm cloud gray. "And my liege, your highness, welcome as well." A courteous nod to them both was given, and then attention was turned fully on Chillingham, who had just dismounted. "Moiran is definitely on the move- I spoke with the headman in Aeslani about him, and he said that they had a hide-out up in Dacarta. They'll probably start the attack by the weekend, if not earlier."

"And the headman in Walani?"

"Same thing, my lord."

Chillingham nodded. "Very well. I'll get Kestrel to escort the knights to the barracks and Merlin to the servants quarters- Uther and his Dogs are in the Oleander suite, Gauis in the upper Physician's quarters, and Prince Arthur in, oh, the Northern suite?"

"Yes, milord." Griflet bowed. "King Uther first?"

"Of course." Turning, he bellowed, "KESTREL! HEISH LA VENAME!"

The door flew back open and Kestrel darted back out of the barrack rooms, trotting over to the Border Lord. "You yelled?" he said dryly.

"Hush," Chillingham scolded, but he was smiling. "Show the knights to their quarters, and give them the basic tour. We don't have much time before dinner."

"Yes, my lord," Kestrel all but sang, turning to give a beaming smile at the knights, all of which gave him uneasy smiles in return. "If you'd follow me to the stables?"

Arthur sauntered up, Merlin following behind him. "I'd like to see the knights quarters as well, if you don't mind, and have a look around."

/

The intense life that existed within the walls of Kendral was soon apparent to all. On the border, there were a plethora of people, races, and creeds that converged upon it, making it one of the most unusual of the castles. On their way to the stables, they passed Mercian women and men in clothes not much different from Camelot's, Buregatin women wearing elaborate upper face masks and brilliant colored cotton dresses that accentuated their assets and their hair looped in elaborate braids around their heads, and a few tough looking washerwomen who were in virtually undyed clothes. Groups and swirls of fighters with scars and loose clothing on mingled, always carrying swords, some sort of bow, or daggers, with random bits of very light armor attached. The knights were shown the stables, which were situated at the far edge of the castle, and then went on to the barracks. Introductions were quickly procured, and Kestrel began telling them about castle life and some of the people in it.

"Crane, the Mercian who Griflet was talking too when you showed up," Kestrel said as they slipped into the walls, "Defected from the Mercian court and brought nearly 40 men to come help us fight. He's Lord Chillingham's right hand, and he used to be a lord himself apparently. Now, I have 40 Buregatin warriors here as well- _La Gara Shachae_, the Black Guard. Normal soldiers and knights number about 60, depending on the day. It's 20 to a room, so you're all in number 8." Pushing open a door, he gestured into a room with 10 bunks. "Storage for your things is in the trunks at either end of the bunks. Breakfast is at dawn in the Great Hall- that's on the first floor of the keep, followed by the early morning training out on the grass by the haha. Patrol goes all day, so you'll see people coming in and out all the time- don't worry if someone grabs you and asks for your help with something, they probably need it. Dinner is at dusk and be prompt, because no one eats until everyone's there."

On cue, Percival's stomach rumbled. Kestrel smothered a grin.

"There's not much else I can tell you- oh! Yes, the lake. It's required that we bathe at least once every two days. Rooms on even numbers go to the lake tomorrow, and there's no excuse that will allow you to skip, even if you _are_ visiting. Griflet and I will be going tomorrow anyway, so we'll come and collect you a little before dawn."

"_Before_ dawn?" Gwaine said, appalled by the thought of rising so early. Kestrel's smirk broadened.

"Yes, Sir Gwaine, before dawn. I suggest you bring cloaks- the water is fed by a hot spring, but it isn't _that_ warm, and drying before breakfast is a good idea." Kestrel waved them into the barracks, closed the door, and smiled at Arthur, who immediately resisted the urge to cringe away.

"I'll take you up to the Northern Suite, your highness."

They headed out to the keep, Kestrel going quiet as they passed Crane and a group of Mercian soldiers in their tattered blue and silver livery. Arthur watched with interest as he saw how Kestrel's eyes flash dangerously when they met Crane's, the coldly handsome man nodding to them without a trace of a smile. Merlin refused to shrink back as the man's eyes flicked over him, but he stayed close to Arthur. As soon as the group passed, Kestrel led them into the keep.

"I'd suggest you keep Merlin with you," he said quietly to Arthur as a group of soldiers passed in leather armor. "The servant's quarters are in the dungeons right next to the prisoners, and, not to offend, but he looks a shade delicate."

Merlin looked mildly affronted, and was clearly still annoyed at the news he wasn't staying with the knights (and, more importantly, Gwaine), but Arthur simply nodded. "I'd intended to keep him with me anyway. Unless- could he stay in the knights barracks?" Merlin perked up, but his hopes were crashed at Kestrel's next words.

"I wouldn't suggest it." Kestrel turned up a wide staircase. "Remember who runs this castle, and our knights rarely are allowed out to visit the town, so to speak. He'd be eaten alive in there, even if he was with yours. Servants are considered fair game by most of them- Lord Chillingham has the ones here well trained." His voice was bitter. Gesturing to one of the nearest doors, he said, "This is the Northern suite. I'd best be going back down- there's a patrol heading out in a bit that I'm assigned to, so I'll see you in a bit." With a flash of the seductive smile once more, he vanished back down the stairs.

Pushing open the door to reveal a very spartan set of chambers, Arthur frowned, but said nothing. Merlin looked dejectedly at the floor.

This was going to be a very strange visit.


	8. Brothers In Arms

**And so we return… Welcome back to Kendral. Prepare yourself for secrets, really bad salad, and possible fluff in the middle of it all. …I'm way too tired to be writing this.**

**As ever, thank you for reviewing, and thank you for reading, and I don't own Merlin. I also do not own the idea of Hot Blood Wine- that's from Tamora Pierce's**_**Beka Cooper**___**series**_**.**_

**Written to Unfinished Business by White Lies, To Lose My Life by White Lies, Secret by The Pierces, and Grace Kelly by Mika, and the only song that this chapter had anything to do with is Secret probably.**

/

To say that dinner was an awkward affair would have been an understatement. Situated on the first floor, the Great Hall was enormous and stuffy in the July heat, and with 100 Mercian, Buregatin, and normal soldiers (20 were gone on patrol, along with Crane) plus Arthur's knights, it was cramped. Uther and Chillingham had elected to eat on the battlements, which meant that Griflet, Arthur, and Kestrel were sat at the head table, and a set of blank faced pages with movements that were almost mechanical serving. The roar of conversation was deafening, but Merlin still managed to get in a few murmured words to Gwaine before a short tempered steward named Jaspar grabbed him and ordered him to serve some of the Buregatin. That the only non-blank faced man here, Merlin thought angrily, happened to be the most bad tempered was just hideous bad luck. After being bossed around by a cook for a bit, he was handed a jug of spiced wine and told to serve it. His stomach nearly rebelled at the smell- Hot Blood Wine, as it was known in Cenred's kingdom, was widely revered as the most dangerous liquid in the world. It also had a bad habit of leaving the people drinking it addicts to it, and left them uncontrollable by anything but their own desires.

He'd just began pouring into the closest Buregatin when the murmurs started. He stiffened, years of phrases he'd learned in Buregati flooding back and leaving his cheeks stained crimson. He understood the language well, and his magic helped compensate.

"_Not much to look at, is he?"_

"_Hush, S'Caneral, he is but a child still-"_

"_-and even children can learn the art of seduction, look at Prince Kestrel, and this one is the Camelot princes. Or are you blind, friend H'Naman?"_

"_Those ears…"_

"_S'Ahmal, silence yourself. It's unbefitting-"_

"_C'Hara, I doubt he speaks our tongue-"_

That did it. Bending between the gossiping S'Caneral, H'Naman, S'Ahmal and C'Hara, Merlin said in perfect Buregati, "_More wine, Sir S'Caneral, milord C'Hara, Sir S'Ahmal, Armsmaster H'Naman? Having talked so much, I assume you are thirsty."_

The group went dead silent as Merlin looked through his lashes at the rigidly stiff S'Caneral, who nodded slowly. "Yes," he said in heavily accented Common, "I think we would enjoy it." Switching to Buregati he said softly, _"You have our apologies, friend. We shall strive not to judge, particularly when scolded so thoroughly."_His eyes crinkled the corners of his eyes, the only thing visible.

Merlin bowed, poured the wine, and slipped farther down the table, aware of the curious, mildly impressed, and interested stares he was receiving, and feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

/

"How long has he been with you?" Kestrel asked, watching as the skinny young man worked his way down the table, conversing in both Buregati and exceptionally polite Common with the _Shachae _sitting there. Picking at his salad in disgust (romaine lettuce again- disgusting), he looked over at Arthur, who was dissecting a piece of venison with an intensity normally reserved for life saving events. Beyond him was Griflet, staring mournfully at a depressingly small amount of food for so large a person. Lord Chillingham had cut Griflet's food in half after the last incident, and even though Kestrel was sneaking food to him, he was still not eating enough. Once again, he'd refused to back down when confronted with Crane's authority. Stubborn, proud, and fiery as his hair in more ways than one, the heir of Wyvern Aerie was a fighter born and bred, and subjecting himself to the cold hearted Crane, even after being beaten half to death by Chillingham himself didn't come easy. After what he'd gone through in his early teens, it was a miracle that he wasn't a broken mess. Well, more of a broken mess, at least.

"Nigh on 3 years now- he came from Cenred's kingdom to live with Gaius, who's his uncle. What's with this meat?" Kestrel was startled out of his reverie by Arthur's reply.

"Probably one of the deep wood deer, they're quite tough. What part of the kingdom?"

"Little town called Ealdor-mind if I borrow your dagger?"

Kestrel handed it over. "We used to camp outside of there when I was young- I might have even played with him, once upon a long time ago."

Arthur looked up at that, face a mass of emotions. "Do you remember a boy, dirty blonde, named Will?"

"Will…yes, actually." Kestrel grinned at the memory that was pulled up by that name. "He used to catch toads and help me hide them in my mother's luggage."

"He's dead."

The harsh words startled him, and he looked over to see Arthur swallow hard, returning to the venison. His eyes looked a touch brighter than they had a moment before. "Dead? How?" he asked.

"Killed protecting me, helping keep Merlin safe, keeping Ealdor safe- in short, saving us all. He died well, and was in Merlin's arms at the end."

Kestrel nodded slowly. "That's good then. To die in defense of one's loved ones guarantees heaven, for us, and Ealdor was officially adopted into the Buregatin long before Cenred took over. I had no idea it came under attack though. Cenred and my mother did nothing?"

"Not as far as anyone knows."

"Disgusting," he said harshly, sipping his wine, only to find it empty. Merlin looked up that moment, and he waved him over. The man looked wary, but approached none the less. He could already smell the Hot Blood Wine from where he sat, but resigned himself to the nasty combination. Some of the Mercian's were addicts, but that didn't mean he had to be.

"Kestrel- a warning. We don't talk about it. Ever."

"Very well."

He drained every drop of the wine, wincing at the burn, and settled back in his seat to watch the servant as he slipped around the room.

/

Arthur very nearly killed Griflet the next morning when he appeared at the door to inform him of the visit to the lake. After shouting through the door that there was no way possible he was getting up before dawn to _bathe_, thank you very much, Merlin gave up trying, collected his things, and accompanied the virtually silent young lordling down to the knights barracks. He'd spent a sleepless night tossing and turning on the hard floor, until Arthur growled at him to stop moving before he was forced to do something drastic. He'd sulked for about a minute before Arthur had sighed gustily and grumbled that he may as well sleep in the bed. The room was incredibly plain, but the bed was wide enough for two, and Arthur was missing Gwen just as much as Merlin was missing Gwaine. Even then, neither slept much, Arthur disturbed by fitful dreams, Merlin simply because the fact that he was in bed with Arthur was such an odd concept.

Walking with Griflet, he was slightly intimidated by the sheer size and power the man exuded, and didn't dare say a thing to him.

Once they reached the barracks, they were met by the sound of Gwaine's voice yelling bloody murder. Sighing, Merlin looked up at the heaven's and muttered a prayer that they'd make it through the day without someone having to be knocked unconscious before they did something dangerously stupid, like try and take on a dragon by themselves or such.

Griflet muttered a quiet "Amen", and grinned at him, eyes sparkling. Merlin looked up at him, and smiled tentatively back.

"Shall we?" Griflet asked wryly, offering his arm. Merlin grinned, and took it, suddenly much more comfortable with this side of the man.

"Yes, lets."

/

Gwaine's loud argument was soon matched in volume, if not in purpose, by Kestrel's slightly higher voice. Merlin and Griflet looked at each other in exasperation when they saw the group of Buregatin, Mercian, and round table knights standing outside the door to number 8.

"I should probably get in there," Merlin said with a sigh.

"Good luck," Griflet replied, looking inordinately cheerful.

Merlin slipped through the crowd into the room, just in time to see Gwaine almost throw Kestrel from where they were tussling. Lancelot was standing nearby, wringing his hands and clearly trying to get Gwaine to listen to reason. Also clearly, it wasn't working.

Stalking forward, hands on hips, Merlin glared at the duo. "_What_," he asked in his most impressive imitating-Arthur-at-his-kingliest voice, making Gwaine freeze and Kestrel look up in surprise, "Is going on here, pray tell."

Gwaine immediately scrambled upright, and pointed at Kestrel. "He started it." Kestrel immediately started to argue that it was _Gwaine_ who'd started it and-

Merlin's eyebrow arched in a way that would have left Gaius weeping with joy at the mastery of total disapproval portrayed. "I do not _care_ which of you started it. I would simply like to know how exactly the _porvan-torn_ of the Buregatin and a highly revered Knight of Camelot happened to end up in a childish yelling match with each other, when, as men and equals, they could have talked it out."

"He _pulled_ me out of _bed_!"

"He _kicked_ me in the _throat_!"

The two turned back to each other, equally irate and ready to start fighting all over again. Merlin coughed loudly, forcing the two to look back at him.

Griflet slipped inside and stood next to Merlin, grinning at the two. "Charming, the both of you. Now, Kes, honestly. Forget it and let's go, we'll be late getting back as is."

Merlin looked sternly at them both. "Apologize, as well."

Kestrel scowled, and sighed dramatically. "Fine."

/

In the cold predawn light, it was surprisingly easy to work their way down from the castle and into the forest. Crags and steep hills rolled throughout, and when they finally came down to the lake, the knights were stunned by the view.

Surrounded by a jagged cliff three-fourths of the way around, the lake was completely clear, with what appeared to be the scattered stones of a house strewn about almost strategically in the water. Water Lilies, a rarity in the harsh north, floated peacefully on the water, and unlit candles in bowls were set on some of the smaller stones. It was an absolutely gorgeous place, and it thrummed with the remains of magic and ancient spells. 4 barges were tethered to a small dock at the edge closest to the path, and one was already being poled out into the center of the lake, the people on board already stripping off their clothing.

Merlin, Gwaine, Griflet and Kestrel were bringing up the rear, Griflet having wheedled Kestrel and Gwaine into being friends. The two had sulked but had both become too curious about the other to keep mad. They'd been delighted to find out that they both knew the same wandering soldier from Mercia, and had drank in the same bar- once at the same time. (Kestrel had remembered because Gwaine had nearly punched him on accident.)

"There it is," Kestrel sang. "Pretty isn't it?"

"Lovely," Merlin agreed, resisting the urge to flush. Having 50 all but naked men in one lake was bound to be an odd experience.

Griflet seemed to understand, and had clearly caught onto just why Gwaine had possessively thrown an arm over Merlin's shoulder. "If you wanted, there's a small pool over to west- it's warmer as well, and very secluded."

Gwaine was about to object when he realized exactly what Griflet was suggesting. A grin lit his face. "That would be most agreeable."

/

Merlin was nigh on asleep when Griflet and Kestrel came back to collect him and Gwaine from the pool. After an exceptionally short bath, thanks to Gwaine's wandering hands and Merlin's tired body, they'd both climbed out, spread Gwaine's cloak, and had simply laid there, relishing just being within the other's arms.

"I _knew_ it," Kestrel said smugly, punching the taller man in the arm as they came into the clearing. "You owe me."

"I owe you nothing," Griflet retorted, sitting on a nearby rock and watching in amusement as the two squirmed their way back into reality. "I agreed with you."

"Pff." Kestrel flopped down at his feet. "You're no fun."

Merlin looked up at them as he righted himself, amused at the friendly bickering. The first light of dawn had snuck over the horizon by now, making Griflet's hair into a fiery halo and Kestrel's gleam like a raven's wing. "You two fight like brothers," he informed them, brushing some leaves from his hair.

Both instantly froze, looking at him warily with…Merlin's eyes widened.

Identical storm-cloud grey eyes, exactly like Chillingham's. Griflet's hair, the same red-gold that Chillingham's must have been and still almost was. Kestrel's mouth, the sensual curve that decorated Chillingham's face as well.

"Oh," he said softly, and if he hadn't been sitting down he would have fallen over. "You're brothers, aren't you?"

/

"I come from Wyvern's Aerie, which is a fief to the west, against the mountains. It's not a Border castle though- too far south. It's named for the Wyvern's that live there. When Uther ordered them killed, he wasted a whole battalion of soldiers on them, only to discover that they were too strong to destroy. He all but ignores its existence now… In any case, my mother, Arianne, and her husband, Lord Don, had no children. They'd been married many years and wanted a child, so my mother, who's a remarkably pigheaded woman, went to Chillingham and asked if he'd…help. I suppose that's the right term. He agreed, and I was born in the fall. The only problem is that five years later, my mother had another child- Jaufré is his name- and he was obviously more eligible to inherit than the bastard child of a border lord. So when I turned fourteen she sent me off to go live with the man I'd only ever heard called the Demon at my home. I was announced as his heir a year later."

Griflet's tone was quite matter of fact, but Merlin heard the tone of deep disgust in his voice. They were on their way back to Kendral, once again at the back. Gwaine had nearly had heart failure when the two admitted that, yes, they were half brothers, their father the man who had beaten his beloved into unconsciousness. It'd taken Merlin a bit to get him to stop shouting about duplicity and various other nonsense.

"My mother is Susattenare, as you know, the Queen of the Buregatin. She was on a raid into the kingdom when Chillingham caught her, and, well… the rest is history, though I should tell you that _she_seduced _him_. They got on famously, and after a fling that no one expected, she left to go back to Cenred's kingdom. This was only 3 months after the incident with Griflet's mother, so we're almost the exact same age. I was sent to live with him because one of her husband's- the rulers are allowed however many they desire of either sex- had discovered that even though I'm the heir apparent, I'm not full blood Buregatin. So they sent me to train with my real father, and to learn about the land. It was _most_ annoying to me, but I lived." Kestrel shrugged. He didn't seem unduly worried about the fact that he'd just revealed one of the darkest family secrets in Camelot.

"You two do realize," Merlin said quietly, "That you're now fourth and fifth in line for the throne, don't you?"

Both shrugged. "Not important," Griflet said simply. "I'd abdicate- I don't want it."

"I've already got a throne," Kestrel grinned smugly, "Why would I want another?"

/

"Please explain to me," Arthur managed as he eyed the dish in front of Griflet, "Why, exactly, you would eat that."

"Orders," Griflet said miserably, poking at the thin gruel in front of him. Chillingham, Uther, and Crane (waited on by Coriandan, Morris, and Loren, respectively) had come down to breakfast, so the other three had been tossed out to fend for themselves into the mass of people. They'd ended up sitting by the Camelot knights, Kestrel opting to sit with his Buregatin. Gwaine had commandeered Merlin to sit by them, and was trying to coerce him into eating the unusual looking eggs and bacon, a rare feast food normally reserved for the winter months near Yuletide. There was also a solitary piece of toast. Merlin was refusing to eat it, on the grounds that it looked like a very angry face. (It did, sadly, which didn't help matters much.)

"You've been ordered to starve? You barely ate anything last night-"

"Yes, actually," he said gloomily, forcing himself to eat a spoonful of the stuff. He shuddered as he swallowed.

"_Why?_" he asked, flabbergasted.

"I refused to go along with something that was morally wrong, but others didn't see it that way. Merlin, are you going to eat that egg?"

/

Once breakfast was finished, his chores were done, and Arthur had been safely bundled off to go to the training grounds, Merlin went to see Morris about an issue that had been niggling at the back of his mind for some time. It took a while to find Uther's rooms- the Oleander room was on the third floor, on the other side of the castle, and it took a lot of dizzying turns getting there. Once he did, he took a deep breath, and reached up to knock on the door to Uther's rooms. Unfortunately, it was flung violently open to reveal Coriandan, who stormed out in a huff, slamming it behind him.

The door opened again to reveal a tired looking Loren, who simply looked at him, muttered, "You again," and walked away, leaving it open and heading the opposite direction of Coriandan. Hesitantly, Merlin slipped into the room to see Morris sitting at a table and obviously sulking, slumped over. Merlin raised an eyebrow in question.

"No, don't ask. What is it?" Morris asked with a sigh, unfolding a bit.

Merlin swallowed hard and sat gingerly in a chair. "How much time do you have?"

"Enough." Morris eyed him, and then straightened all the way. "Why do you look like you're trying very hard not to run?"

"Because I _am_ trying very hard not to run." He took a deep breath. "I…er…"

Morris grinned. "Let me guess, before you make a fool of yourself. This is going to be one of _those_ questions, isn't it? The one's that you really don't want to ask Gaius?"

Merlin got the feeling he was going to be blushing very shortly. "Yes, in a manner of speaking…"

"Do you or do you not want the sexplanation?"

Yep. Blushing.


	9. What Blood Will Tell

**As ever, I don't own Merlin.**

**/**

It took every ounce of training that Griflet had ever received for him to not start jumping up and down with joy like a child. Sitting neatly on his plate was no longer the miserly portions he'd been forced to have of late, but the full rations that everyone else had. He ate in rapturous silence, savoring every morsel. It was quite possibly one of the best lunches he'd ever had.

"Enjoying your meal?"

His eyes flicked open and met hypnotic blue. The King's personal servant, the one he remembered being called Morris, was smiling charmingly at him as he poured the wine. He smiled in return, deciding that he liked actually having a conversation with the servants. "Yes, very much so." Looking out over the hall, he was surprised to see Merlin milling aimlessly about, carrying what seemed to be an empty jug. As he watched, Jaspar loomed up and snapped something at him, but the manservant just stared blankly at him, swaying slightly where he stood. Morris chuckled, and Griflet glanced over at him. "What's with Merlin?" He asked, since the Dog seemed to be well aware of _something_.

"Oh, nothing much. Merlin and I just had a little _chat_ today. It looks like he's still in shock." He smirked in the direction of the younger man. "Good day to you, my lord." He glided away, his movements smooth as silk.

/

On the top of the rampart after lunch, Merlin watched as the Camelot knights mingled and mixed with the Buregatin, Mercian, and regular troops, going through some of the elaborate _kata's_ that the Buregatin used in their training routines. Watching Arthur whirl around in the flurry of kicks and punches was rather humorous to see.

An arm snaked around his waist, and an apple appeared in front of him. "Miss me?"

Merlin froze, and staunchly refused the urge to blush. After his conversation with Morris, it was getting steadily more difficult. Swallowing, he looked over at Gwaine and managed a smile. "Of course." He grabbed the proffered apple and wiggled out of his grip. "And just what do you think you're doing, grabbing me in broad daylight? People will talk."

"Darling, I have my doubts that anyone will care here." Gwaine leaned on the battlements, smiling his most charming smile. Merlin firmly told himself not to melt. "The way they go on, you'd think that that Mercian, Crane, had slept with the whole castle, save Kestrel. Apparently the prince is rather picky, and has this thing about being the one to ask."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "So, this Lord Crane's not very nice, then?" He slid closer, and Gwaine grinned, returning his arm to its original position as Merlin attacked the apple. Servant's did not eat well at Kendral. His lunch had consisted of a piece of gritty, slightly moldy bread.

"Evidently not. He's supposedly got Chillingham wrapped around his little finger- a master manipulator or something. I have my doubts, but after watching him while we were on patrol, I might believe it. He's a nasty creature, there's no doubt, and easily as cruel as Chillingham." There was a slight pause at the end of that phrase, and Merlin looked up suspiciously.

"Tell me what you're not telling me," he said quietly.

Gwaine sighed, running a hand distractedly through his hair. "There were…rumors, I heard last night at dinner. Someone was saying that one of the reason's Griflet was on half rations is that he wouldn't sleep with Crane."

"_What?_"

/

Aden slowly made his way through the third floor, his footsteps lazily tapping down the hall. Comfortable in his element, his home, and his sanctuary, he sighed pleasantly as the cold gray stone's essence wrapped around him, an excellent change from what he normally endured in Camelot. The place was entirely too _white_.

Slowing, he stopped at the door with a small, brass plaque attached that read as follows: Crane, Second In Command. It was a large, heavy, oak door, with thick iron fittings and studs- built to keep out invaders, and built to keep in his personal servants. Crane went through at least 8 a year, most of them dead from the tasks he demanded of them- or dead by their own hand, one way or another.

He rapped his knuckles sharply on the door of his only friend, and former enemy.

It flew open abruptly, Crane reaching out to grab his collar and pull him inside with the force of an eight horse carriage team…_if_they were trained warhorses. As muscled as he was, Crane was an inch taller, four inches broader, and a good 50 pounds of muscle heavier. With a face like a mountain that had been bombarded by catapults, he managed to be handsome, and had no scars on his face. He was blonde haired, with blue-green eyes that changed shade according to his mood. Right now they were almost totally green- he was in a very good mood. Aden quietly thanked the gods. For all that he liked his second in command, he was dangerous to deal with even on a good day, and downright deadly to everyone when he was in anything less than good. "_Finally,_" the man grinned, revealing exceptionally sharp eyeteeth, "You've been so unkind, Aden, not coming to spend time with your closest- make that only- friend. Mead, here, sit- how's things been? Camelot decent? Are you actually going to kill Uther this time, _darling_?" The last word was said mockingly- everyone knew that, despite Crane's love of the men around Kendral, he had no taste for Aden and had no inclination of ever touching him.

Aden fell into a chair as a small, skinny boy zipped up to him, carrying mead and two goblets. Slightly dazed, he looked around for a moment, trying to get his bearings.

Crane decorated his room with weapons, torture devices, and various other implements of pain causing grief. Aden preferred to actually handle those he was breaking, and slowly ease them into their new form of life- Crane detested it. He believed in getting results as quickly as possible, which was why he went through so many servants so quickly. Jaspar had served Aden for nearly 10 years, broken inside of his rooms, anything but outside. The boy Crane had sent with the mead had probably been broken for only a few days. He'd be dead within the week, most likely. Studying the boy for a second, he was unsurprised to see a spiked collar around his neck, and chafe marks around his wrists and ankles. His hair was chopped short, the straw blonde strands uneven but manageable, and his eyes and face were totally expressionless, a look that Crane loved in his servants. He was responsible for the work that had been done on most of them through the time he'd spent at Kendral, which was a little upwards of 30 years.

Crane dropped into a comfortable chair next to him, a small table between them now laden with the tray the boy had brought over.

"So," he said calmly. "How'd it go?"

Aden sighed, letting the boy pour him some mead. "Botched, the lot of it. I could have killed him on a hunt if the people I'd hired hadn't been utter idiots, _and_ I didn't even get a chance to break the kid that Uther sent for me."

Crane's eyebrows twitched up towards his hairline, a sight that would have been amusing were it not for his face's cold looks. "You're getting old, Aden," he teased. "Time was you could have had him groveling at your feet in an hour."

Aden scowled at him, but the affection in his eyes was obvious. He and Crane had met in battle, and after Crane had been captured, the man had stayed on, along with all of his men. Over the years the number had dwindled to only 40. The two had hated each other at first, but slowly grown accustomed to each other.

"Yes, I'm old. How did the boys handle themselves?"

Crane gave a crooked grin. "Well, Kestrel slept his way through half the castle-"

"And I'm sure you took the other half," Aden muttered, sipping the mead.

"Shut up." Crane grinned good-naturedly. "Griflet did quite well though- there was a nasty skirmish with one of the smaller raiding parties, I think it was Helam's, but he took down five and the rest ran. He'll be a good tactical leader, but put him in charge of anything social and you may as well talk to a block of wood. The boy's useless at communicating and making friends."

"He seems to have taken to the Camelot knights though, and that worries me." Aden sighed, watching as the servant slipped into a corner and lowered himself to the ground, kneeling. "They'll be dead within the week, and he's much too loyal for his own good."

"You're going to kill Uther then," Crane said wryly. Aden nodded, trying his best not to twitch with annoyance when he said, "Good luck. You've never had the stomach for it before."

"Partly because getting away with it would be difficult."

"Partly because, underneath it all, you still wish he loved you like he used to…before Liam."

Aden's knuckles went white on the goblet. "Shut up. That was a long time ago. I _hate_him."

"Oh, I know that. I just want to make sure _you_do."

/ **Six Days Later**

"MERLIN!"

Jumping from where he'd been violently cursing a stain on one of Arthur's favorite shirts, the younger man turned to face the officially pissed off Once and Future King, swallowing very hard. Arthur was drenched, and his eyes were blazing like a bonfire.

"Y-yes?" he asked warily, forcing himself not to shrink back against the wall. It was taking a lot of will power, and he really, really, really didn't want to have to associate any memories of Arthur with Chillingham-esque pain. As long as he didn't throw anything, he'd probably be fine. If he did, well… running was certainly an option. His nerves were shot just being here- he'd hidden it fairly well, but knowing that he was virtually still under Chillingham's control was terrifying, and his control was starting to fray.

Arthur didn't seem to have caught onto his mood. "Dry clothes, _now._" Flopping into a chair, he began wresting off his boots, swearing violently under his breath the whole time. Merlin scurried over to the wardrobe, pulling out new things for Arthur and ignoring how much his hands were shaking.

It'd been a full week since they'd arrived, and 3 days since he'd had any issues with Chillingham- the last time they'd been on patrol and the man had whacked him upside the head for not going armed. Otherwise, there'd been nothing wrong with the past week, and he'd basically been ignored. It had been rather boring for Merlin, really. He'd been all but confined to Arthur's chambers after one of the drunker soldiers had had the nerve to try and grab him where Arthur could see. His time with Gwaine was becoming incredibly restricted thanks to that and the endless rounds of patrols the knights had been conscripted to join in on. Despite the fact that all seemed well, for the most part, with minimal fighting and general good will abounding, he couldn't shake off his fear and anxiety, and the feeling that something was wrong.

"Merlin! Shirt!"

Jolting, he threw the blue one to him. "Can I ask what happened?" He asked, a tad timidly. It wasn't ever safe to get Arthur this riled, and who knew if he'd take offense?

Arthur scowled angrily. "Kestrel," he spat. "He "accidentally" dropped a bucket of water on me. He won't stop _flirting_ with me, and it's driving me up the wall!"

Merlin nodded sympathetically, and promptly dropped Arthur's boots- on top of Arthur's foot.

"AUGH! Merlin! You've been so clumsy these past few days! What's wrong with you, eh?" Arthur was practically yelling at him now, and Merlin shrank back.

Five seconds later, he blacked out.

/

"…lin? ..Er…lin…MERLIN!"

Jolting back to reality with a painful, throbbing head was not fun in anyone's books, and Merlin prayed it would never happen to him again. Groaning, he curled around himself, squeezed his eyes shut, and hoped it was going to go away, _fast_. Through the haze of pain he was aware that someone was talking, and they seemed a bit frantic, but his head hurt too much to think.

"Merlin, your prince needs you to get up. I suggest you do so."

That voice. Oh. That voice made all the pain seem much smaller. That voice could deal out pain like no one else. He _had_ to obey that voice- he'd disobeyed once, and look where that had gotten him.

Ye gods, how he hated Aden Chillingham.

Forcing his eyes open, he cringed as a brutally scarred hand gently turned his face back and forth. The storm-cloud eyes did not look pleased and _how did he get in here anyway?_Letting Chillingham pull him into a sitting position, he shied away like a frightened horse when the man reached for his face. Arthur's hand clapped his shoulder, and gave him a warning glare. Holding very still, and trying to figure out what on Earth was going on, he let Chillingham finger through his hair, deftly mapping out his skull.

"No fracture- he's probably just bruised. He fainted, you say?" The question was shot at Arthur, who nodded. Chillingham's lips pursed, and he carefully slid a hand under Merlin's jaw, making him look at him. "How much have you eaten lately?"

Merlin licked his lips, uncomfortable with the cold stare. "Th-the same amount as-as the servant's get h-here," he swallowed hard and forced the words out, "My lord." Arthur's hand tightened on his shoulder, but he said nothing.

"That would be the problem, then," Chillingham said simply. "You're accustomed to eating much richer, bigger portions. Tell the cook you're to be given the same as the soldier's tonight, and don't look at me like that, he's not going to poison you."

The cook, just as bad tempered as Jaspar, was high on Merlin's list of People To Never Annoy. He also didn't like Merlin much.

Chillingham rose, with a soft groan that betrayed his age. "Well, I'm off for patrol. If he's still not feeling well, take him to Gaius- that man can cure just about anything." With that parting remark, he sauntered from the room.

Merlin looked at Arthur, wide-eyed. "_What_ just happened?"

"Well, you passed out and fell like a rock on the floor. I ran out to go get Gaius, and ran into Chillingham, who asked what was going on, and the rest is history," Arthur said. He looked a bit shaken. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you weren't hardly eating anything, Merlin?"

"I didn't think it was important," he said quietly, letting Arthur help him up.

"Bedrest for you then," the Prince said sternly.

"Arthur! Please, no, let me get out," he begged. "I've been in this room and the Great Hall almost the whole time we've been here. I'm going crazy. The last time I was actually outside of the walls was the first day we got here! Please, I promise I won't do anything stupid, I'll just go sit on the battlements and enjoy the air and-"

"Possibly get carried off by a wyvern. They've been roaming in the area. I'm not letting you outside, Merlin, especially now, knowing your luck!"

"Arthur!" A spike of pain shot through his head and he stumbled, Arthur barely catching him. Arthur sighed.

"Merlin, please stay here. Get some sleep, at least. When we get back from patrol I'll send Gwaine up to stay with you, alright?"

Merlin sighed. "Fine."

/

As soon as the patrol was gone, Merlin slipped out of his room and made his way to the fourth floor. The third floor was home to Chillingham and Crane, with a few of the married soldiers as well. The floor was mostly deserted though, and he easily avoided the solitary person who was headed to the lower levels. Slipping up the broad staircase, he came to the large door that marked the entrance to the fourth floor's solitary room; the Room of The Dead, the soldiers had called it. He'd come to find out why, and to get out of staying in bed for so long. He was sick of the room and wanted to explore. Starting up here seemed like a good idea.

"I thought I'd find you up here."

Whirling around, Merlin stared in surprise at Griflet, who was ascending the stair's behind him. "How-"

"Arthur mentioned something about confining you to his quarters. He's not in a good mood. What did you do?" Griflet had reached him by now.

"I passed out."

Silence descended for a second, then Griflet burst into laughter. "Oh, I feel so bad for his children if he's this over protective of _you_."

/

Leon sighed with all the feeling of a hurricane. "Will you two _stop it_ with the anxious looking around like you expect Merlin to come hurling out of the trees or something!"

Gwaine and Arthur glared at him, turned around on their horses and ignoring the extremely amused looks that Chillingham and Kestrel were exchanging in front of them.

"He could be getting into trouble!"

"He could be getting carried off by a wyvern!"

"He could be getting taken away by a recreant knight!"

"He could be unconscious on a floor somewhere!"

"He could be-"

"He could be," Lancelot interrupted calmly, "Asleep, and resting off the shock. He's not that disobedient, and he's not stupid. You're over reacting."

/

"What is this place?"

Empty except for a chair almost identical to the throne at Camelot that sat in the center of the floor, the top floor of Kendral was dusty and quiet, the tall windows at the top streaming in pale golden light. Their footsteps echoing in the hot, silent room, Griflet and Merlin entered, Griflet closing the door behind them. "This is the old execution room. Apparently, before Father was born there was a civil war in Mercia- Kendral used to belong to them, you see, and it was one of the headquarters the rebel king used. They brought the others here and had them killed in this room- legend says they stashed them here too, for a while, but I doubt it. The chair's the only evidence that this room was ever used for anything other than dancing."

"What's with the chair?" Merlin reached out and ran his fingers over the swirls. As he did, a curious musical sound filled the air, like a young child singing softly. Startled he looked around, removing his hand. The singing stopped, fading into nothingness.

"They had the person sit there," Griflet was saying, "And then they slit their throat from behind, while facing the rebel king. It's bolted to the floor."

Merlin's stomach roiled dangerously upwards, his head spun. Griflet caught him as he swayed towards the floor. "I'm alright," he assured him, a tad shakily. "That just…shocked me a tad."

"Ah. Well, that's all that's up here. Shall we go?"

"What about that?" Merlin pointed at a dusty hanging by the door. It was small, and appeared very old, with a few tattered tassels hanging pathetically from it.

"Oh, the Bond. Here, come have a look."

Woven in elaborate red letters against a black background were these phrases: _Honor Alwayse Your Lorde, Serve Alwayse Your Kinge, Protecte Alwayse Your Countreemen._

"Very old, isn't it?" Merlin said dryly, noting the curious attempt at spelling.

"Ancient," Griflet confirmed. "It's the bond that everyone takes when they join the commanding ranks of Kendral. It's been here since before even the rebel king. I don't know how old it is, but someone said once that it was magicked to ensure that the people who say it can never betray the castle or something…Anyway. Let's head back down. I'm with Arthur in that you need to get some rest. Ready?"

With a last glance at the Room of the Dead, and the chair that occupied it, Merlin let Griflet lead him out of the room.

The door was swinging closed when the soft, child-voiced whisper of, "_Come back…_" reached his ears.

/

Gwaine pushed open the door to Arthur's room to see Merlin nearly asleep, curled on Arthur's bed. A stab of jealousy flicked through him for a second, but he shrugged it off. There wasn't any way he would have let Merlin stay with the other servants, picked through and picked upon as they were, and with the dangers of the castle mounting day after day, Merlin was safer here than anywhere else. After he'd been grabbed by the soldier, Gwaine had fretted and worried over him, but Merlin had simply shrugged it off, and retreated reluctantly to Arthur's rooms.

Now, he was probably going crazy.

Gwaine already knew that _he_ was.

"Gwaine?" The voice was quiet, scratchy, sleep- saturated. He grinned, and slipped into bed behind Merlin. Merlin shifted slightly, pressing up against him and sighing in his quiet, happy way. They so rarely got time like this now, they both cherished it.

"I love you," he whispered in Merlin's ear.

Merlin's hand snaked over his, their fingers twining together. "I love you too," he whispered back, smiling sleepily.

/

Arthur carefully opened the door, looking in warily. Relieved to see that Merlin _was_, in fact, asleep, now sprawled all over Gwaine, he slipped inside and over to the bed. Gwaine looked up at him, his chest acting as pillow for Merlin for the moment. Cocking an eyebrow at him, he looked questioningly at Arthur, staying silent.

"He's alright?" Arthur murmured the question, trying to avoid waking him up. Gwaine nodded, running his fingers through the black hair. "Good. I'm off to the training grounds, get him up so he's ready for dinner." Gwaine nodded again, and Arthur slipped out the door.

/

_He walked the stairs to the fourth floor, opening and pushing into the Room of The Dead. Wandering aimlessly around, he paused when he saw three children enter the room. Two had the same red-gold hair as Griflet and Chillingham once had, the other a thick brunette. The brunette looked about the same age as the bigger of the two red-heads, maybe 15 years old. The other was maybe 9 years old, with big blue eyes and an innocent, trusting face. They wandered around the room, chatting and laughing to themselves, the little one holding tight to the bigger red-heads hand, looking anxiously at the chair even though he was smiling. The sounds were curiously muffled, the room golden color with the light streaming in._

"_That's me."_

_Merlin looked over to see an identical boy to the 9 year old standing next to him, watching. He looked almost decidedly sad. "And that one's Aden, my big brother, and Uther- he's my cousin."_

"_Cousin?"_

_The boy nodded, grinning sadly. "Yes…But that's not why I brought you here. This is important- did I hear Griflet call you Merlin?"_

"_Yes- wait, you heard me?" Merlin stared at the boy._

"_Of course- you came and visited me today. Now, watch."_

_Merlin watched._

_The sounds came into focus quickly._

"…_their throats in this chair, Liam," Uther was saying. Liam's eyes widened._

"_They- they didn't!" He protested firmly. "No one got killed here, Uther! Da wouldn't allow it! He says that killing people is…" he wrinkled his nose, "Un-ethik-al."_

_Uther snorted and Aden laughed. It was a nice laugh, soft and sweet and gentle, surprisingly kind for such a cruel person. But maybe he wasn't cruel yet…_

"_It's not unethical," Uther said smugly. "It's because my Da's weak and ordered that none of the prisoners in the war get killed. He doesn't understand that people have to die at some time._We _just hurry that process along. It's not_bad_or anything, isn't that right, Ade?"_

"_Course." Aden smiled down at his wide eyed brother. "It's okay, there's no ghosts or anything here Li. Come on, you can sit in the chair."_

"_NO! I-I don't want to!" He shrank back and clutched at Aden's leg._

_The scene faded, and became nighttime. A few stars could be seen glittering through the huge upper windows._

_The door swung open again, Uther carrying a limp Liam in his arms. Striding across the floor, he propped him up in the chair. Merlin's stomach dropped as the king-to-be pulled out rope and lashed the boy in place, his head lolling onto his shoulder. He stirred a few times, but Uther paid no attention, fastening the ropes tight._

"_I'm not going to like this, am I?" he whispered. Liam shook his head, and gripped Merlin's hand._

"_I had to show you. I'm sorry."_

_A quiet moan came from the roped Liam's throat, and he stirred again. Uther smiled like a knife, and pulled out a long dagger from his belt. It shone in the moonlight, the blood channels catching the faint light and making it glitter dangerously._

_Merlin sat down hard, and looked at Liam in horror. Liam simply squeezed his hand, leaning against him._

"_It'll be over soon."_

_/_

"Merlin, please, tell me what's wrong."

Merlin buried his face in Gwaine's shoulder, face soaked in tears. "It was everywhere- just everywhere, Gwaine, and I couldn't stop it, it was the past and _ye gods_ Uther was only fifteen, and he did that! Fifteen! And I don't even know why he did it- Liam could have only been nine at the time, only nine, just a child…"

Gwaine had been woken by the sound of Merlin screaming in terror, the younger man thrashing around like something had gotten a hold of him and was intent on ripping him to shreds. It hadn't been a pretty sound, and to say that he was worried about his lover was, quite possibly, the understatement of the year. After 10 minutes of reassuring him that he was there, he was alive, no one was trying to hurt him, and that he was safe, Merlin had burst into tears and clung to him like a child. He also couldn't get any sense out of him. He was babbling about was a chair, a child named Liam, and a knife that Uther had apparently used to slice someone's throat with and how the blood had been everywhere. The closest he could figure was that Merlin must have had some sort of violent nightmare.

Arthur burst in. "Merlin, it's almost time for din-"

Merlin flew off the bed and all but tackled Arthur. Arthur barely caught him, looking at Gwaine in bewilderment. Gwaine shrugged, climbing off the bed and gently prying Merlin off the prince and back into his arms, murmuring platitudes the entire time. Merlin clung to him, the tears finally stopping as he took deep, shuddering breaths.

"What happened?" Arthur asked finally, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder, but Merlin said nothing, just buried his face in Gwaine's neck.

"Don't tell him…" he murmured when Gwaine opened his mouth to explain. Shutting it again, he simply shrugged again, and gently pulled him back to bed.

"I'll send him down to dinner as soon as I can get him cleaned up, alright?" He told Arthur, who hesitated but nodded.

/

Dinner was long and possibly among the worst of Merlin's life, starting with a dropped wine jug. The Buregatin took pity on him, helping him clean it up. S'Caneral and C'Hara, who had all but adopted him, coddled and crooned at him, helping him recover a bit of his composure in time to serve at the high table.

The real trouble emerged when he was pouring Uther's wine.

"Ah, Merlin," Chillingham said, giving him a surprisingly soft smile, "How're you feeling?"

His hands shook slightly for a moment, and then steadied. Forcing himself to respond, Merlin smiled back at the border lord. "Much better, my lord."

"Glad to hear it. Were you up and about later today? Griflet mentioned seeing you."

Moving over, he began pouring Chillingham's wine. "Yes, I went up to the Room of the Dead."

Uther went deadly still beside him, then, in a rush of movement, flew upright and stormed out of the room. Chillingham, watching Uther as he fled, said very quietly, "And who told you that you could go into that room?"

Taking a very dangerous risk, Merlin said quietly, "A little boy, named Liam."

Chillingham's knuckles went white on the stem of his goblet, and he stared at Merlin with an expressionless mask. "I see," he said finally. "Well then, go about your duties…"

/

Jaspar watched carefully, waiting for Merlin to go out of the servants mess before slipping into the hall behind him. Walking silently, he approached closely, and raised the heavy sap.

Merlin crumpled as silently as he'd hoped. Pulling him onto his back, Jaspar picked up the slim, limp servant, and carried him up the stairs, heading towards Chillingham's private quarters.

The master was waiting.


	10. What The Devil's Due

**Still don't own Merlin.**

**/**

Merlin slowly stirred, his body aching and complaining as he forced his eyes open. Everything was a blur of grays at first, but it slowly focused into a small, relatively round stone room. There was also a small fireplace on one side. There was a door exactly opposite him that he could just faintly make out as well. It seemed very simple, just another tower room of the castle.

And then he saw the décor.

Chains hung from the walls, and a table with various nasty implements for torture sat on a table in the center of the room, along with his shirt, which was folded very neatly. Jaspar stood behind the table, cleaning a nasty looking device with what looked like spike on it with a rag. Merlin shifted, only to discover that he was quite firmly chained to the wall.

"What's going on?" he managed to rasp out. Moving his head, he realized, to his horror, that there was a thick iron ring around his neck, attached to a chain on the wall. His wrists and ankles were similarly shackled. Jaspar ignored him, continuing his cleaning with a nonchalant ease that unnerved him. Humming softly, he walked over to the fire and shifted what seemed to be a poker that had been stabbed into the fire and was glowing red-hot by now.

Just as Merlin was slowly grasping the implications of this, the door flew open and Chillingham stormed in. Jaspar melted against the wall, blending into the background with an ease that was somewhat disturbing.

Chillingham examined the contents of the table with an extremely practiced eye, and then picked up the slightly curved, dangerously long knife that rested on it. Turning it absently in his hands, he slowly sauntered over to where Merlin was chained. He stood like it was restful, as though his weight was suspended. He continued to examine the knife.

"Merlin," he said quietly, his voice terrifyingly gentle, "I've been quite lenient with you lately, have I not?"

He knew the answer to this. There really was only one.

"Yes, my lord," he whispered, fighting back tears. He should have known not to mention the Room. He'd gambled, and gambled poorly, and now he had to pay the devil what he was due.

Storm-cloud eyes looked up and darkened to steel as Chillingham lifted the blade and very, very gently, slid it across his throat.

It didn't break skin, but he trembled all the same, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Jaspar, out."

The door slid open and shut again, and Merlin risked opening his eyes, only to cringe away as Chillingham's eyes burned into him.

"Where did you hear that name, Merlin?" Any gentility that had been in that voice was gone, replaced with a glaciers and ice cold steel, stabbing into him. The concept of lying immediately flew out the window in the face of that voice.

"He told me!"

"WHO?" Chillingham roared, the knife pressing against his throat, his face twisted into a mask of rage and pain. Merlin knew he had tears streaming down his face by now, but didn't care.

"Liam! I dreamed him!"

Chillingham froze, and then slowly pulled the knife away. Cringing, Merlin watched as the man pulled himself back into the icy demeanor that so encased him. A faint smile touched his mouth, pulling the cruel line up.

"So," he said softly, and Merlin's heart sank at the triumph in his voice, "You have magic."

"N-no my lord," he whispered, half-begging, pleading with his eyes.

Chillingham punched him. It wasn't particularly hard, but it hurt. He whimpered in pain, his jaw aching with the force that had been put behind it.

"The only people who can sense Liam are those with magic, Merlin. I could care less about it- I've never minded magic, I have a touch of it myself- healing, you know. It's Uther who has the mania in him, not me, but don't you _dare_ lie to me again," he hissed. Straightening, he adjusted his tunic. "Who took you to the Room? That door was spelled to only open to the occupants of the castle, and guests don't apply."

Merlin clamped his jaw shut. There were some things that even torture would not be dragging out of him- one of them was Griflet's name. The man had no reason to be hurt for something he had done as a kindness, and of course he hadn't known that Liam was trapped in there.

Chillingham eyed him, and then snorted. "Foolish boy."

Sauntering out over to the fireplace, he picked up what Merlin had assumed was a poker, only to see that it was, in all actuality, a brand with an "A" at its end. It glowed red hot with menace and suppressed rage, heat coiling off of it like steam. Merlin swallowed hard, sweat breaking out all across his body, all his muscles tensing. He should have known that Chillingham wouldn't just let him off after saying that name. The only thing he could promise himself was that he wouldn't scream. He wouldn't give Chillingham the satisfaction of hearing him scream again. No matter the pain, he wouldn't scream for this man again.

Chillingham approached, face emotionless. Lifting the brand, he raised it to chest height, where it would burn the skin over Merlin's heart. "One more chance, Merlin. Who took you?"

Closing his eyes, Merlin let the tears drip down his face and shook his head. He wasn't going to watch. He _couldn't_ watch.

The heat was nearly blistering him when the door flew open.

"ADEN! I want a word!" Merlin's eyes flew open again, and hope soared for a few brief seconds.

Chillingham closed his eyes, his mouth curling into a snarl. "Morris, get out. This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, I think it concerns me. And that is why, love, I'm going to do this."

Merlin stared in dumbfounded shock as Morris stalked over to him to stand right in front of him, pulling open his shirt. His head lifted challengingly, he stared daggers at Chillingham.

"You promised. You take anything like this out on me, Aden."

Chillingham eyed him. "Anything I can do to change your mind, Morris?"

Morris snorted, tossing his head. "Nothing. I'm not going to let you do this, not going to let you dirty your hands with the blood of someone so young. It's not worth it, Aden. Not over a name."

Chillingham's mouth became a thin, hard line, and he sighed. "Fine. You'll take his place again, for everything?"

"Soon as I have him back to Arthur, I'll be back to deal with you, Aden."

/

Arthur was about to go and search the castle for his wayward servant when the door was flung open to reveal a very bad-tempered Morris and a quivering Merlin. Morris sent him a furious glare, accompanied by a, "Keep a closer eye on him, why don't you, my lord," before all but tossing Merlin into the room and storming back away. About to yell, Arthur took one look at the expression on Merlin's face and the evidence of tear-tracks, and rethought his plan.

"What happened?"

/

Aden slammed his hand against the door of the torture chamber, finally letting his howl of grief ricochet out of his chest and bounce around the room, agony lacing every nerve of his body. Over forty years of suffering, anguish, a thirst for vengeance, and pain had finally come to a head, all thanks to a servant and his own son. He'd known it would be Griflet, the boy had been drawn to the place since he was but a child, and while the rest of the world avoided the accursed room like the plague, he relished it. He'd gotten the bloodlust he carried from both his parents, and nothing short of a full command would stop him from acting on it. But _why_did he have to have taken Merlin to see it, when he knew how much blatant hatred and misery surrounded the place?

Sinking to the floor, Aden rested his head on the door, breathing slowly and heavily, his eyes squeezed closed to keep too many tears from falling.

A quiet knock sounded, and he pulled himself upright. Straightening his tunic and wiping his eyes, he pushed open the door to see Morris.

"You kicked out Jaspar?"

"As always," Morris said simply, and began to strip down. It would be a long night.

/

The dawning sun peeked over the mountains, illuminating the tall young man standing on the ramparts of Kendral's curtain wall. Griflet surveyed the landscape with tired eyes- 6th watch was the worst. He'd been there since 4 in the morning, and had had minimal sleep the entire night before. Something was wrong- the faint tingle of magic he had received from the Wyvern line had alerted him that something wasn't right in the castle, but he couldn't go out and see what it was without attracting attention. So, he'd simply remained awake in his rooms, pacing until exhaustion forced him to bed.

"Morning."

Glancing up, he somehow wasn't surprised to see his father walking towards him. His face was its normal, immovable, granite outlines, mouth stiff, shoulders back, head erect. His whole aura conveyed the fact that he was, in fact, the master and commander of all he surveyed.

"Hello, my lord-" He got a glimpse of pain in Chillingham's eyes and said quietly, "I mean, father."

A tiny smile dared to creep onto Chillingham's face, and he came over to lean against the battlements next to him. They surveyed the landscape in silence, the craggy rocks and hills of the northern country dotted by the lakes. The others had already headed down to the lake this morning- the barges could be faintly seen poling out to the deep center, tiny moving figures like ants crawled about on them, and slipped into the deep blue.

"I- I have not been an especially good parent," Chillingham said quietly, breaking the peaceful silence. "Particularly not to you."

Startled, Griflet looked over at his father. "What? No, you've been much better than Mother ever was- she's always been more concerned with Jaufré than with me. You at least took the time to teach me how to lead."

"But I also taught you how to be cruel, and how to hold your anger in such amounts as to create utter hatred," Chillingham said coldly. "I taught you of revenge, and suffering, and pain, and how to inflict it on those in your path. I taught you to be ruthless when you were clearly delicate, brutal when you were kind, and merciless when you are merciful. I have tried to turn you into a copy of myself…and Uther, it seems. There's nothing I can do now but hope I didn't totally ruin you."

"Father-" Griflet started, but Chillingham waved it off.

"Just- there's just one thing that I want you to know, Griflet."

"What's that?" He asked softly.

"No matter what, I love you." With that, he pushed himself off from the wall, leaving Griflet to stand there like a statue, a solitary tear working its way down his face, as hard as his fathers. He hadn't known it was that easy to shock him but it seemed-

"Grif?"

Taking a deep breath, Griflet straightened up, turning to face Kestrel as he came onto the ramparts. The cool air of the morning had clearly given the Buregatin prince goosebumps, but his vanity and pride still wouldn't allow him to don a shirt. "Yes?"

"Grif, what's wrong?" Kestrel asked anxiously, coming over and looking up at his much taller brother. "Are you feeling alright?"

Taking a deep breath, Griflet smiled shakily. "Never better."

/

Morris slowly pulled his shirt off, hissing in pain as he did so. "Ye gods," he muttered, looking at the incredible display of bruises and marks on his chest. There was a small burn even, on his hip. Chillingham had ripped him apart, pulled him back together, and left him bleeding on the bed, but he'd at least been gentle enough not to make him go insane from the pain. He'd done it before- he'd watch Loren as he'd begged for death at Chillingham's hands, even in the throes of passion.

"I'm sorry."

Morris glanced up to see Aden slip into the room. "It's nothing, really. You've given me worse. _Uther's_ given me worse, for heaven's sake, so stop acting apologetic when I know you aren't. Where'd you go, anyhow?"

"Just to check up on Griflet, he had a long watch." Aden frowned, and then strode over to him, wrapping his arms around Morris's waist and nuzzling his neck, trailing kisses along his shoulder and neck up to his jaw. Morris grinned, lazily, and let Aden's hands wander lower. Aden growled, but it was soft and loving, an unusual notion, but one that was totally suitable to the occasion.

"Are you going to take me back to bed?"

"Oh yes."

"For a long time?"

"Very."

"Lovely."

/

"Merlin, you can't stay there all day," Arthur said gently as possible. Merlin, who was buried under a pile of blankets, poked his head out just long enough to glower at him, and then returned to his cocoon. After Arthur had managed to coax part of the story out of him the night before- the part about him spilling the wine and Chillingham being angry enough to yell at him part, not that he believed it- Merlin had gone into a sort of hibernation mode, clearly trying to keep his mind away from whatever had happened. He'd also turned into something resembling a cuddly octopus, but that was beside the point. In a last ditch attempt to get Merlin calm, Arthur had tried to get Gwaine into the castle, but in the end it was pointless trying to get him out of the barracks without being seen and questioned, and he'd given up. They'd stayed together that night, Merlin a shaky, nervous wreck until he'd fallen asleep.

"Merlin, you need to eat," he tried. "I even brought sausage, _and_ I'll go get Gwaine in a minute if you'll eat."

Merlin's head poked back out of the cocoon, and Arthur grinned in triumph.

/

Crane sighed impatiently, leaning against the wall beside Chillingham's door. Jaspar had stalked out a while ago, face distorted into a mask of rage- no doubt the ever so charming Morris was still inside, occupying the place in bed where Jaspar normally lay. The man was a glutton for punishment, it seemed. He glanced down to see his mute servant sitting cross legged on the floor, playing with the ends of a frayed shirt. The boy was holding up surprisingly well, despite being so thoroughly broken.

The door creaked open to reveal Chillingham in black leathers, tall boots, and a loose white shirt, his hair pulled back in a horse tail. He raised an eyebrow at his second in command, closing the door behind him. "You need something?"

"Yes, actually," Crane drawled. "First and foremost, do you actually plan on going through with what we discussed yesterday? I don't want to be at the feast and have everything go wrong."

"No, everything will happen tonight, right on schedule." He ran a hand through his hair. "Gods all bless, the only people who will die tonight are Arthur and his men, and Uther, of course."

"So, you think Griflet will be able to rule?" Crane asked absently, reaching out to push a strand of graying hair out of his friend's eyes.

Aden's eyes darkened. "We'll jump that hurdle when we come to it," he said shortly. Crane pushed off of the wall, and they began to walk down the hall together, Crane's bulk dwarfing the tiny servant that stumbled alongside him.

"And if he's not able?"

Aden glowered at him. "Then he'll act as Kestrel's bodyguard. It's simple," he said sharply. "I won't kill him."

"A bit harsh though, making him act as the second to his own brother."

"Fah. It's necessary. Now, I want your men briefed and in place in a few hours."

"Of course." Crane smiled coldly. "What are you going to do about Morris?"

Aden chuckled dryly. "He's always loved me more than Uther. He'll stay on."

"And Jaspar?"

Aden simply grinned, his smile cold and hard enough to crack granite. Crane chuckled- he really didn't need to have asked. Waving goodbye to the Border Lord, he continued down the hallway. He had some serious work to do to get ready for such a momentous occasion.

After all…Kings don't just keel over every day, now do they?

/

"A feast?"

Aden smiled cheerfully, dropping into a chair across the table from him. Coriandan, standing behind him, shifted a little, but Uther ignored him. "Of course! You've been here over a week and we haven't fully extended our welcome. And it's also the annual time that we celebrate Crane's arrival here, as well! It'll just be your knights, us, Arthur and my foster sons, and the Ex-Mercian's."

"Oh, that sounds excellent." Uther managed a smile; nightmares had plagued him through the night, Liam's voice rang in his head every time he went to leave the room. Maybe tonight would be different though. He hoped he'd be able to sleep, rather than toss and turn with the bloody images in his head tormenting him. It was ridiculous- it had been so long ago, and Liam had _deserved_ to die…at least at the time, it had seemed like that, always stealing time away from him and Aden…

"-Ther? Uther?"

He shook himself back to the present and smiled shakily. "I'm certain I'll enjoy it."

"Oh, I assure you… It'll be to _die_for." Aden smiled winningly at him. "I'll see you at evening then, cousin," he said cheerfully, and slipped back out the door.

Preoccupied with keeping himself smiling, Uther completely missed the anxious, knowing look that passed between Loren and Coriandan. Rising, he strode over to the window, watching as the next patrol rode out and one rode in. Arthur was in the incoming group, he could see, and yet- He frowned. No Merlin at his side today it seemed. How very odd. With a sigh, he returned to the table, settling himself down in the plush chair. Plucking a pear out of the basket set there, a gift from Aden, he bit hard into it, and glowered meaningfully at the wall.

It was ridiculous to feel guilty for Liam's death, after all of these years, but he _had_ been the first man he'd actually murdered. Of course, he hadn't been the last, but he had been young then- and yet, the guilt pervaded. The knowledge that he had willingly slaughtered a child with his own hands, a child of noble blood, had haunted him through the years. It frustrated him, knowing that, even beyond the grave, Liam's obnoxious presence could still annoy him. That was why he'd killed him in the first place, after all. There's only so much annoyance one can take before you completely lose it and-

Thoughts half-formed chased each other around his head as he munched on the pear, oblivious to the nervous, twitching servants behind him.

"D'you think we should try an' talk some sense into 'im, or just let 'im brood?" Coriandan muttered, helping Loren pulled the thick quilt on the bed straight. Chillingham had given the King the most sumptuous of rooms, and the sheer scale of everything there was ridiculous, including the huge, king sized bed. Loren gave him a dirty glare.

"Leave him. He needs time to think on the things he's done- go to the grave with a clear conscience, and all of that." Loren fluffed the pillows with a brisk, businesslike manner, and set them back down. Eyeing them critically, he asked, "Think that this pillow should be in front or behind this one? Which is more aesthetically pleasing?"

Coriandan rolled his eyes. "I will never understand you," he informed the taller man. "Put 'em where you like." He watched as Loren fussily rearranged them, the blondes forehead creased in consternation. After a moment he asked quietly, "D'you think it's right? Us being sworn to 'im and all, and about to help someone kill 'im?"

Loren sighed expressively. "Coriandan. We've spent far too long plotting ways to kill the man to back out now."

"But that's jus' it. We plotted. We never actually _intended_ to go through wit' it, it was just a way to pass the time," he replied anxiously. "An' now that we're actually going through wit' it… Well, it just doesn't seem right, Lor."

Loren eyed him. "Alright."

"So, we're backing out?"

"No. We're just going to let fate take whatever toll it wants. Alright with you?"

Coriandan grinned. "Fine by me."

The servants door banged open, and Morris darted in. "Loren, Coriandan, morning, where are my clothes, I'm off to the lake-"

"Because you smell disgusting-" Loren muttered in a sing song voice, looking knowingly at Morris. Morris grinned at him snarkily.

"Yes, yes, I do," he smirked, sliding past Coriandan, whose eyes were in the process of rolling. "See you in a bit."

/

Crane pulled his tunic over his head, looking over at the expensive mirror that stood in the corner of the wall. The silver and blue, old as it was, still managed to decent despite the fact that nearly 30 years after leaving Bayard's court, shimmered with life and beautiful embroidery. Running his fingers over the trim, he frowned, realizing that after tonight this tunic would probably have to be destroyed. There was only so much blood that fabric could take without staining horribly, and with as much blood as was going to be going to be shed tonight it would probably not be able to take much more.

A pair of scarred hands handed him his sword belt. Taking it absently, he ruffled the miniscule servant's hair in a fit of affection. "Fetch my second in command, would you?"

The boy nodded, and slipped out of the door.

Crane grinned at the mirror. Never mind the blood, he thought, it was just going to be great fun.

A knock on the door startled him, but he called for the person to enter. His second, a man named Menard, came in with the servant in tow, already dressed in his own blue and silver. "My lord?"

Crane grinned at him. "Ready for dinner?"


	11. Long Live the King

**The best song to listen to when you reach the third floor is Shadow Lover, by Mercedes Lackey, from the Shadow Stalker album. The best for the Room of the Dead is the Love Theme from Metal Gear Solid 4. You'll see why.**

**As always, I don't own Merlin.**

**/**

To start out with, the feast was a roaring success. Mead flowed freely about the knights, Camelot and Ex-Mercian alike drank deep and long, everyone laughed, everyone joked, everyone had a _wondrously_ good time. Morris, Merlin, Coriandan, Loren, Jaspar, and Crane's tiny servant, who had been named Peter by Loren, who was sick of calling him You There, all scurried around like moths attracted to candle flames. Carrying plates of food, flagons, and fending off the general public was no small feat, and Merlin was almost totally exhausted by the time the third course had arrived. Morris had almost totally taken over the high table, to everyone's general relief- Crane was a notoriously finicky eater, and Aden was being extremely selective. Uther was, for once, behaving himself, laughing and joking with Aden and Crane alike. The knights were being remarkably well behaved as well, though this may have simply been because Gwaine was only slightly drunk, rather than totally drunk. Gwaine, on his own, could simply stand quietly in a corner of a tavern when totally drunk and the entire place became a few decibels louder. It was uncanny.

The food was, everyone had to admit, positively fantastic, first course to end course. Consisting of no less than 6 courses, they went through a venison stew, breads seasoned with rosemary and a very tasty cheese, roast pheasant, leg of lamb, a salad that had surprised everyone by making spinach tasty, and for dessert Chillingham had demanded a pear cake. The cook, mean tempered though he was, had gone overboard with the amount of everything, and Merlin was even able to beg some scraps off of Lancelot and Gwaine in between pouring mead and ferrying dishes across the room. There was, unfortunately, no minstrel that night. Few had passed through the border in the past few months, and the sheer chance to relax and eat in peace was one that no one was going to give up.

When the last course had finally been served, Chillingham rose to his feet. Silence fell almost immediately, as all the faces turned expectantly towards the Border Lord. Lifting his goblet, he looked around the room.

"As it seems only fitting to end a night of celebration with a toast, I suppose it is time for me to give it."

Smiles all around.

Chillingham swirled his wine, looking out over them all. "To my Mercian friends and comrades. I cannot thank you enough for the tireless service you have given me. To my lord Crane in particular…" He smiled down at the Mercian. "I could not ask for a better confidante and friend." Raising his eyes again to survey the room, Merlin suddenly realized that, in his own way, Aden was just as kingly as Uther. The man stared imperiously enough out over the silver and blue clad soldiers, but his eyes were surprisingly soft. "You have all been invaluable to me, and though your numbers have dwindled through the years, you have still continued your service with unfailing perseverance and strength. You have fought your own countrymen for me, protected the border of a land that is not yours from birth, and kept us all alive, one way or another. We have studied your tactics, as you have studied ours, and together we have blended two incredible styles." He lifted his glass in a bit of a toast, and then continued. "Now, to the great king whose banquet this is. Many a man has fallen by his sword- many a foe has been destroyed by his armies. He is powerful, strong, and a true leader. We are very grateful for the things he has done for us here, are we not?"

Murmur of agreement.

Chillingham smiled down at Uther. "He has been several things to me, but relation is always one. It has been an education, being related to the legendary Uther Pendragon, and I must thank him for all he has taught me. So…" He smiled, looking over them all, eyes subtly hardening.

"Long live the king."

/

When Merlin revived he was sprawled on the floor, Morris shaking him back to awareness with no gentility whatsoever. He squinted up at the man, trying to ignore the pain in his head.

"Merlin, get up. We've got a Situation."

Hearing the capital letter – how did people do that, anyway?- he groaned, clutching his throbbing head, but forcing himself to sit up. "What kind of situation?"

Morris looked dispassionately around the room. "The kind of situation that could possibly end the entire Pendragon line, it looks like, along with all of the decent knights we have. All of the other new ones are Arthur's old friends, and you know what _that_ lot is like."

Forcing his eyes to focus on the room around them, Merlin's heart dropped straight to his stomach. The tables had been violently overturned, food splashed across the wall mingling with blood, wine, and mead on the floor. Wall hangings were slashed, A fight had clearly taken place, but what was more worrying was that no bodies littered the floor, Camelot or Mercian. Staggering to his feet, he surveyed the room in horror. Everyone was gone except for Loren and Coriandan, who were both in the process of removing spears from the wall decorations.

"It was a trap, then," he said softly, fighting the panic. He desperately wanted to find both Gwaine and Arthur in equal measure, and could only hope that they were both still alive. "What happened?"

"Well, you got knocked out pretty fast- one of the Mercian's backhanded you pretty hard. They were all carrying their swords, you know, got up and attacked. Our boys weren't expecting it, they weren't prepared." Seeing the look on Merlin's face, Morris said calmly, "Keep in mind, Aden has a flair for the dramatic. He won't kill them until he's lorded over them plenty, gloated and screamed and raged. Where he's taken them though-"

Merlin's heart dropped even lower. "I know where he took them. It's the fourth floor, the Room of the Dead. Chillingham wants vengeance for Liam- Uther was the one who killed him, after all, and if he gets the crown in the process..."

"Liam? His brother?" Morris said, shocked. Merlin nodded, stumbling across the Hall to the door and heading towards the stairs. Morris was calling to him to wait, but he couldn't, not knowing that Gwaine- _Arthur, Merlin, you have to be thinking about destiny just as much as love_- was in danger, they could die at any minute and-

He collapsed again, his legs giving out. Cursing, he tried to pull himself up right, only to yelp as Coriandan's thick arm wrapped around his waist and stood him up, snorting. "Idiot. Wait. He'll have stationed guards t' stop anyone on each floor." He eyed him in what might have been disgust. "Can you use a weapon?" He demanded, shoving a thick spear with a very long blade on top towards him.

"I can try," Merlin said grimly. Morris laughed dryly.

"The boy _is_ a weapon, Cori. Arthur's magical bodyguard, remember?"

Coriandan glared at the smaller man. "Magic doesn't help a thin' if'n he can't kill wit' it."

Loren breezed up, looking very annoyed and frazzled. "Let's get a move on. Cori, you have your knives?"

Coriandan bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Always. You?"

Loren nodded, a bit breathless. Adjusting his grip on the spear, he grinned wolfishly at Merlin, who resisted the urge to cringe away. "Alright. Ready?"

"Ready."

/

The first floor was already emptied of guards, to everyone's startled surprise. Two dead guards lay sprawled in a heap at the foot of the stairs, blank eyes wide in what seemed to be fear, a single stab wound straight through the heart the only visible indicator of how they'd been killed. Morris quickly looked over one of the bodies, assisted by Loren, who declared the murder weapon to be a long dirk. They all looked grim at that- none of the knights carried dirk's, and the idea that they might have an ally that no one knew about was positively unnerving.

"What do we do with them?" Merlin asked softly. They all moved like ghosts, silent as possible, and he was making a concerted effort not to trip over anything. The fact that they were clearly wasting time was grating on Morris's nerves, but they didn't dare hurry too fast- traps were too easy to spring.

"Leave 'em," Coriandan grunted. "Uther's more importan' now."

Wordlessly, they headed up the stairs, Loren in the lead, followed by Coriandan, Morris, and Merlin, respectively. Loren had just rounded the corner to the second floor when an arrow slammed into his chest, killing him almost instantly. He fell back, eyes wide, and a streak of blonde hair flew past them in the hallway as Coriandan caught the body, face horrified. The sound of clashing steel reached them, and a short scream echoed in the hall. Silence fell abruptly.

Taking a risk, Coriandan peeked around the corner. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening. Morris and Merlin watched him, glancing at each other quickly, both wondering what could have startled the man so much.

"You arn' goin' a believe this," Coriandan said grimly, walking up the rest of the steps and pulling Loren's body into the hallway. Cautiously, Merlin and Morris followed him, and then saw the source of his shock.

Peter stood amongst the corpses of six Mercian guards. He carried an extremely long dirk, almost a short sword, loosely in one hand, his bright eyes focused on them. Merlin's skin crawled at the look in them. The young boy didn't even look human, let alone alive. Peter caught his eye and smiled slowly, a razor blade smile that had the hair on the back of Merlin's neck standing up and paying very close attention. Some ancient, human sense, left over from when brutality and monsters ruled the world, told him clearly that this boy, as young as he was, was a predator, and a good one at that. The boy shifted his grip on his dirk, and then looked at them expectantly.

Morris pushed past Coriandan, walking over so that he was in front of the unusual boy. "You're going to help us?"

Nod.

"You're sure? You're pretty young-"

Eyebrow raise of disgust. Morris closed his mouth, and then shrugged a bit helplessly.

"Alright. I know enough to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Be careful though, please. I'd really rather not have the blood of a child on my hands." Leaning down, he picked up another spear. Hefting it slightly, he looked over at the other two. "Coming or not?"

Coriandan sighed, sparing a moment to bend down and close Loren's eyes. Merlin heard him whisper a soft prayer to whatever deity might be listening for Loren's soul, then they both walked over to Morris and Peter, and the next stair case.

/

Coriandan chose to lead this time, his eyes slightly haunted by Loren's death. He was followed by Morris, and then Peter, and then Merlin, all of whom were more than slightly jumpy. They made very little noise as they climbed the steep stairs, Peter absolutely silent. Merlin had the feeling that he'd done this many times before, in the silence of the keep- he could see him prowling the halls of the keep, just as deadly as the nobles who believed him broken. It had clearly been an act.

Just when he was fairly certain that there were no end of the miserable stairs, Coriandan reached the top and stopped abruptly. He looked back at Morris, face expressionless. Morris's face, just as hard, stared back at him with deep concentration and no small amount of fear.

"Morris," he said softly, "Bury me with him, if I die."

Merlin's throat closed tightly as Coriandan pulled out a knife, flipped it over in his hand once, and looked quickly around the corner.

He was too slow in pulling his head back, a series of crossbow bolts hissing through the air the only warning he had before one of them pierced through the thick muscle where his neck and shoulder met. Morris and Peter immediately lunged past the man as he fell, clutching his neck, Morris roaring a battle cry, Peter a blur at his feet.

Merlin caught the man, ignoring the sounds of battle. Pushing him upright against the wall, he swallowed hard as Coriandan looked at him, panting hard, teeth gritted from the pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes.

Coriandan smiled weakly. "Nah, kid…" he said softly, a trickle of blood working out of the wound. "Yer no' trained. I know wha' it's like." Reaching out with his good arm, he grabbed Merlin's arm. "Listen to me, boy," he said harshly. "Loren's down, an' while this wound shouldn' be fatal, they poisoned it. 'S a Mercian thing, ya poison the tips so's if you can't kill 'em outrigh' you get em in th' long run." He grunted, grimacing and tightening his grip. Merlin swallowed hard as the man's dark eyes burned into him.

"I've done some stupid stuff, boy," he said shortly, "And I'm no' proud of it. But you… you got time. Make it last. You'll be th' last of th' Dogs, you'n Dom. Remember me, an' Loren. An' Morris, when it comes to tha'. Make sure tha' Arthur don' end up like his Da. One Uther's quite enough, don' ya think?"

Merlin nodded, fully aware that there were tears in his eyes and not caring. He'd never seen this side of the man before, and, he realized, never would again. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and Coriandan grinned at him weakly.

"'S alright, boy. I'm off t' meet my lord Death. Tha's enough for me. Now, go, boy."

Scrambling upright, Merlin went to go around the corner when Coriandan said softly, "An' I'm sorry, myself." Turning back around, Merlin looked at him, confused. Coriandan's smile was gone from his face. His dark eyes looked deep into Merlin's, guilt openly displayed. "I've danced wit' the scavenger's daughter myself, boy. I'm sorry."

Merlin stared at him in open shock, and then bit back a cry as Coriandan's eyes slipped shut, and he went perfectly still for the final time. As he turned to leave, he noticed the knife in Coriandan's hand. Plucking it out of the loose grip and wiping a solitary tear away, he stepped into the carnage that had been wreaked in the third floor corridor. Bodies lay everywhere, some with heads smashed in, slash wound's from Morris's spear across where their eyes would have been, others with solitary stab wounds like the ones administered on the first floor. Merlin counted ten bodies all told, stunned. Morris and Peter evidently made a good team.

The two in question were waiting at the end of the hallway. When he handed Morris the knife, the man's face looked stricken, but he said nothing, simply nodding his acceptance of the undeniable. Peter looked thoroughly unimpressed by this lack of motion, and gestured harshly with his head towards the blood splattered staircase.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin bit back his anguish.

"Let's go."

/

Before they reached the top of the fourth staircase, Morris hesitated and looked back at Merlin. "Considering that this will be the floor with all of the remaining soldiers…"

"You want me to help," Merlin said softly. "I know. I'll do what I can."

Morris looked at him hard. "Use that spear too, however you can." Reaching out, he gently squeezed Merlin's shoulder. "We _will_ get them back, Merlin," he said gently. "One way or another."

Peter nudged him, motioning impatiently towards the top of the stairs. They both began ascending again, only to be stopped by a furious voice.

"_What is going on here?"_

/

To say that Griflet was in a bad mood was not just an understatement, it was the understatement of the century, and possibly the next one as well. He'd left the feast early, unhappy with the noise and feeling rather sick. After waking from a well deserved nap thanks to the sound of what seemed to be battle outside of his room, he'd bolted upright, pulled on his sword and grabbed the extra shield that he always kept beside his door. Storming out of his room, he was shocked to find 6 dead Mercian soldiers sprawled on the floor, eyes widened in death, blood splashed and pooled on the stones, still warm. He had wandered amongst them for a moment, shock keeping him from immediately dashing away. He knew their faces and names, their habits, their relations in Mercian, the positions that they had once held in Bayard's army. The betrayal of their death was a physical blow to him, a stab straight to the heart. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened for a bit, but then he'd found himself dashing up the stairs, blood lust already starting to crowd busily in on his mind, drowning the thoughts of caution. The men had been comrades of his, valiant fighters and dangerous enemies but loyal friends to him and his father. Those who killed them would pay-

And then he'd seen the dead body of Coriandan, and slowed. The man had a crossbow bolt stabbing out of him, and while the wound shouldn't have been fatal, but it was a Mercian treated bolt (he knew the difference by now), and no one intentionally carried crossbows in the castle. They were only stored on the third floor of the keep and they took time to load, to prepare, and there were plenty of bolts scattered on the floor around the stairway.

_They were laying in wait_, he realized numbly, stepping into the carnage for the second time. This time, 10 bodies waited for him, blood already spilling from him creating puddles on the floor. His stomach churned, but his mind, riding the wave of bloodlust, noticed coolly that they had died the same way as the others. Lifting his head, he noticed a single footprint headed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

"Sloppy," he muttered, and vaulted over the bodies, heading up the stairs with grim intent.

/

And now, here they were, of all people, three servants, one of which should technically be broken.

Merlin stared down at him from the higher stair. "Grif," he said softly, "You aren't going to like this."

"Not like this?" he snarled. "Not like what? That sixteen good soldiers are dead? Presumably by the hands of a ten year old and King Uther's pet? If so, then you're correct. I don't like it." He began stalking up the stairs, sword raised and pointed at Merlin's chest. Peter

"Grif. Your father is about to commit treason of the worst kind. Uther, Arthur, and all the knights are in the Room of the Dead, facing execution."

Griflet froze. "You lie," he whispered.

Merlin looked him dead on. "Not with Arthur and Gwaine's life on the line."

/

Later, when asked about it, Arthur would say that it was one of the worst moments of his life. His father's most beloved cousin, seated on a chair that could have been the same chair as the throne in Camelot, his father kneeling at the edge, screaming insanity as Chillingham just sat there, smug and simply waiting for Uther's voice to run dry. Percival, out cold since the banquet, two men with knives to his throats. Gwaine, a cut stretching across his cheek, head lolling limply against a soldier- he'd been nearly killed when he'd tried to get to Merlin (_ohgodMerlincouldbedead)_ in the Great Hall, and he was mostly unconscious by now. Elyan, face stony, bleeding from a nasty wound on his chest. Lancelot, still struggling, but gagged now. Leon, his eyes dull, a leg broken and a cut oozing red along his hip and forehead, clotting in his hair. Himself, gagged, bound, trussed like a goose for Yuletide, a gloved hand fisted in his hair to keep him from trying to stand again after they'd pushed him down onto the ground.

Two for his father, two for Percival, two for him, one for Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan. Crane behind the throne-chair, gloating most like, 6 men behind them all, by the door.

17 men.

The rest guarding the keep from something, anything that would stop the bloody work about to commence in this room.

Never once had he ever dreamed that this would be the end he would endure. Never. And yet, it looked like it would be, because there didn't seem like anyone was going to be coming here any time soon.

Finally, Uther's voice ran dry, and all he could do was choke out words and glare at Chillingham.

The man had the nerve to smile as Arthur silently raged at him.

"Are you quite done, Uther?" He said sweetly. "Because if you are, I would like a turn, to say some things that I should have said a very, very long time ago."

He stood up, walking around to the back of the chair and resting his arms on it. "Let me tell you a story, Arthur. I remember that Morris once told me that Uther would send him to tell stories to you, and the ones you always asked for were ones where your father played a part. Shall I tell you one? It has lots of blood in it, of course- this _is_the magnificent, genocide causing Uther Pendragon we're talking about." His tone was mocking. "But enough about that. This story starts with a little boy, whose name was Liam.

"Was. That is a very important word. You see, Liam never lived past his ninth year. He was small, and sweet, and lively, and he always asked the questions that no one had answers to tell him. He loved to fish, and ride, and try to keep up with his brother, who was fifteen. And then, one day, their cousin came to visit. Their royal cousin, the cosseted and pampered princeling of Camelot, who had come to visit them on the hard, blood splattered border land. His father would not kill the captured bandits that were a problem there, something the prince thought foolish. The prince was blood thirsty, you see, and wanted to cover his hands with the blood of something. He wanted to destroy rather than build.

"And so he made a target of the small, innocent child. He chose him because he was young, he was fresh, and, most importantly, he was disposable, the second son. He also annoyed him, constantly. And so, one night, he took him up here, tied him to this chair, and slit his throat."

Arthur had gone very still, and his eyes tore away from Aden's face, which had fallen from its soft smile to a hard plane of icy rage, to look at his father. What he saw broke his heart- Uther sat slumped where he had knelt, all the fight gone from him.

/

Five men guarded the Room of the Dead. Griflet hung back as Peter and Morris surged forward, still clearly conflicted but not daring to stop them. They moved like dancers, graceful but perilously dangerous in their grace. Merlin stayed in the background, heart pounding as he saw the door up ahead. The fight seemed like it would be a short one, until Peter was thrown aside, and a man surged toward him, sword raised to chop down on his unprotected shoulders. Time seemed to slow as he yanked his mind back to the fight and away from the men trapped behind the door.

Acting on pure instinct, Merlin swung the butt of the spear up, sliding one foot forward into a sideways position, and shoved forward. The world abruptly caught up and as the butt of the spear slammed into the soldiers silver and blue tunic, a concussive blast slamming the man hard against the wall, enough to knock him out.

Peter slit his throat quickly, finishing off the last of the soldiers.

Merlin was still staring at the soldier, arms shaking. Morris walked over, and gently pried the spear away.

"Merlin, when you get home, make sure that you get trained for spear and staff work from Dom, alright?"

Merlin nodded blankly, and looked up at the older man.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said softly. "They'll have heard."

"I doubt it." Morris hesitated, and then pulled him into a quick hug. Merlin clung to him for a moment, and Morris whispered softly, "If I die today, make certain I'm buried with them."

Merlin cringed, and Morris pulled away, smiling sadly and adjusting his grip on his own spear. Merlin smiled shakily back at him, and nearly jumped out of his skin as Peter braced himself nearby, looking up at him in approval.

_What kind of world is this_, he wondered almost hopelessly, _when ten year old boys are broken to pieces and then become warriors beyond compare?_

Griflet climbed the rest of the stairs, clearly trying to ignore the dead men scattered on the floor. Reaching out, he pressed his hand to the door, and pushed it open.

/

Morris surged forward, his muscles screaming in pain from the exertions he'd been putting them through. Peter was a blur at his side, and Merlin had surged in with him, eyes flashing gold.

Mercian soldiers surged forward to meet them as well.

The world was a blur of swords, spears, and daggers, Morris dealing out as much damage as possible. Men fell fast to his spear, the razor sharp leaf slicing through tendons, throats, and legs- anything in his way was met with harsh reprimands at the tip of his blade, and the sharp point of Peter's dirk. Griflet stood in the doorway behind them all, unwilling to enter the fray. He understood the boy's reluctance- it was hard to fight against those you loved like family – but at the same time he desperately wished that the boy was more open. These were the toughest of fighters, battle smart and dangerous. One of them managed to knock out Peter, another pinning Merlin to the ground, a sword in his hand. As Morris swiftly dispatched one of the more violent attackers, he turned to see a sword begin a downward arc towards the unprotected servant's sides. Thoughtlessly, he threw himself toward the blade.

"NO!"

/

It was Aden who had screamed that, but it was too late. He could see it by the way Morris nearly fell, the way he clutched his side… the way his hand came away red with blood.

_No! Not him, please, not him-_

He slammed his way through the crowd, thoughtless. They moved out of the way, falling dead silent as he wrapped an arm around Morris's waist, oblivious to anything but the fact that _he could be dying, nonononononononono…_

Pulling him through the crowd, he gently set him on the throne-chair. Blood was already seeping out of his mouth, a thin trickle that stood out brightly against the white of his face. It had seeped through the tunic as well, and as he gently reached to lift it, Morris caught his hand. He looked up, startled, into blue eyes that had seen everything he had to offer, good or bad. His heart sank- they were steadily dimming. He'd been around enough dying people to know the symptoms, and it didn't look like he would be getting better. His mind went numb with fear for a moment, and his shivered.

"Aden," the man rasped softly, and he leaned in closer, trying to hear the soft voice.

"What is it?"

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Aden lost himself in blue.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for wha-"

The dagger that had once been Coriandan's stabbed straight into his chest. He coughed, the motion sending a ricochet of pain along his body as he stared in disbelief.

"That," Morris whispered. A solitary drop of blood fell from his mouth and onto Aden's hand, where it was still resting on the arm of the chair.

Aden stared in amazement, and managed to get out, "I hate you."

Morris's smile was shaky, his eyes misting. "I hate you too, love."

Reaching up, ignoring the pain that seared him, ignoring the fact that the world was dimming, the light was going, the world was going cold, the pain numbing…

He managed to reach up and touch Morris's cheek, just as Morris touched his.

And the world went black.

/

The silence that had fallen when both hands dropped, limp and dead, was broken by a low, disturbing pleased chuckle. Crane stepped from around the throne, pausing to give an admiring glance to Morris.

"Well," he said with a smile, looking over at Arthur, who was staring at shock at the two dead bodies, "Wasn't that something? He certainly had him wrapped up tight, didn't he?" He brushed a hand down the red-gold-silver hair on Chillingham's now forever stilled head, looking fond. Turning to survey the group, he smiled smugly.

"And isn't this nice," he drawled, sauntering forward to slide a hand under Arthurs chin, then continued on. "A king, a prince, and all his men, all right here. Such a pity...all tied up, and no way to stop me from taking control, as, of course, is my right as his second in command."

"You forgot about me."

Griflet strode forward, blade bared. "As his son, illegitimate or not, I have the right of challenging you to a duel to the death to gain control of Kendral."

Crane raised an eyebrow, smiling mockingly. "And you think that you can actually kill me? You, the one who wouldn't even kill a prisoner?"

Griflet snarled, lifting his blade. "Yes."

Abruptly, a figure stepped in between them. Peter lifted his dirk and stared hard at Crane, face determined. There was a pause as everyone stared at the boy, and then Crane burst out laughing. It was a high pitched, positively psychotic laugh that made the hair on everyone's neck stand up sharply. Merlin, who had been inching toward Gwaine, froze.

"Loyalist, little one?" He laughed. "Fine. Die with your precious lord."

The sword swung, but he was too late.

There was a hard _thunk_ as Peter's dirk slammed into Cranes stomach and a squelch as he pushed it upwards until the whole blade was buried in the man. Crane coughed once, blood trickling out of his mouth in a way scarily reminiscent of Morris, his eyes wide in shock, and fell, Peter dragged down with him as he collapsed. The boy looked disgusted and annoyed, and pulled the blade out of Crane with a noise that made everyone cringe. Turning around, he nodded solemnly to the gaping Griflet, then knelt, offering the bloody blade to him hilt first. Slowly lowering his sword, Griflet reached out and touched the cross-guard in amazement.

As Merlin watched, all of the Mercian's removed their arms from the Knights, and knelt where they stood, heads bowed, and their swords in front of them, as if Griflet had just been crowned king. Staring over them all, he said nothing, but as Merlin watched, his eyes filled, and he swallowed hard. Raising his chin, he looked over them all and at the door.

Merlin turned to look.

Liam stood there, along with a 15 year old Aden and a devilishly smiling blonde haired, blue eyed teen who could only be Morris, his fingers intertwined with Aden's. Morris winked, and the three waved shortly before turning and apparently walking out of the room.

"My lord?" A soft voice said. Griflet tore his eyes away from the door to look down at Menard, who had been holding Uther and was the closest to him. The Mercian looked up at him calmly. "We offer you our lives and our swords, to do with as you wish. Should you wish us to even end our own lives, we shall comply with your orders."

Griflet looked torn, staring down at the bound and sagging knights, a silently crying Uther, a shocked and unresponsive Arthur, and Merlin.

Merlin watched him, a knowing look in his eyes. He was smiling slightly.

Griflet smiled sadly. "I am many things, Menard, but the first thing I am not is my father. However, I do believe in second chances, so my first order as the Border Lord shall be this; release the knights, see that they are handed over to Gauis." He looked down at his feet and then said softly, "And someone must fetch Kestrel."

As if that had made the situation real, he finally let the tears fall, and as the Mercian's rose and saluted, he stood stock still.

And so Lord Griflet, Border Lord of Camelot, Lord-Commander of Kendral Fief, crumpled in a heap beside his father and cried.


	12. Aftermath

**I don't own Merlin.**

**/**

The aftermath of the deaths that had rocked the castle was to be expected, Merlin supposed, and it meant that Gwaine moved into Arthur's former room with him, and Arthur into one of the nicer rooms. It meant that he could wake up to warm arms around his waist, clutching him tight, hair tickling his face, soft lips working their way down his neck, and a sharp nose nuzzling behind his ear. It was sweet, and comforting, and so reassuring than he burst into tears at the simple relief of having Gwaine _alive_ and _there_. Gwaine muttered platitudes, kissing the tears away sweetly.

When his tears had finally stopped, they simply lay there for a while, just relishing being in each other's arms.

"I don't want to go," Merlin finally whispered. Gwaine's arms tightened impulsively around him.

"I don't want to either," he admitted softly, running his fingers though Merlin's hair.

It was the day after, and the aftermath of what had transpired the day before would begin to take effect as soon as dawn broke over the craggy horizon. A pyre had been lit last night, Crane's body on it in his full blues and silver. Griflet himself had lit the pyre, and stood there stock-still and rock faced through the night, attended by the silent, virtually unflappable Buregatin and a rigid backed Kestrel, just as hard faced as his brother. This morning would be Aden's entombment in the catacombs built beneath Kendral, along with the Dogs. Morris's body would spend the remainder of its time intact next to his two friends and his love.

Uther had gone into a complete breakdown, and had hidden himself in his rooms to rage and let out all of his misery, so Arthur had done the official ennobling, gifting of lands, and changing the name of Kendral to Wyvern's Reach the night before, just before they lit the pyre. It had been a short, to the point ceremony, devoid of happiness, cheering, or any good emotions. It was hard to be happy when ones father had just nearly committed treason, and a ten year old boy had buried a dirk hilt deep in a man double his age and talent. Merlin had been there, and had draped the cloak of office over his shoulders. A new crest would be made for him, but for now he would use Chillingham's. He'd watched his shoulders shake as the soft material fell on them, the younger man holding back tears. He knew the feeling.

But now it was time to get up.

Gwaine slipped out of bed first, his head wrapped in bandages and his torso matching. Merlin watched him through slitted eyes, then pulled himself out of bed and padded over to him, wrapping arms around his waist and rest his head on Gwaine's shoulder.

"Do we have to go?"

Gwaine sighed, turning around to wrap his own arms around him. "Of course we do. If nothing else, we have to go to support Arthur. He's a wreck, and you know it."

Merlin's throat tightened, and he tightened his grip. "I know. That doesn't mean I want to face him right now. Sometimes…" he hesitated. "Sometimes destiny isn't very fun. It hurts. It makes you do hard things, things you don't want to do. Things you feel bad about, things that make you feel horrible and wonder how you can possibly have done that. I don't how much destiny I can take right now. Last night I watched people die, Gwaine. I _watched_ them, saw the life slither out of their eyes and bodies. I listened to their last words. I watched them close their eyes for the last time. I watched them take their final breaths, and in one case I help cause a death. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. It makes me feel responsible, for all of it." His voice was nothing more than a whisper by now, a weak little fragment of a voice that was barely audible.

Gwaine's fingers combed soothingly through his hair. "Merlin," he said quietly, "It wasn't your fault. In some ways, it was Uther's. In some ways, it was Chillingham's. In a lot of other ways, it was all of the things in between. In any of those cases, it's not your fault."

"I could have helped stop them," Merlin said quietly. "I could have used magic. I could have torn down this castle, brick by brick, and I didn't. I couldn't. There was something about Chillingham that made magic hard to do, and…Gwaine, I was scared. I was terrified. I was beyond afraid. Normally I just get mad when that sort of thing happens, and magic goes crazy, but not this time. It was like I just couldn't bring myself to do what I normally would have. And I don't know why, and that worries me more than I like to think about."

Gwaine sighed again, and kissed his forehead. "Love, there's no point in wondering about what would have happened. It just hurts you. Now come on, help me get properly dressed. There's not a chance I'm going to be able to get into chain mail on my own today."

A shaky smile lit Merlin's face. "You just want me to feel you up."

Gwaine grinned roguishly at him, pulling gently away. "There is that, too," he admitted cheerfully, and darted in to quickly kiss Merlin's lips.

More seriously, he looked him straight in the eyes. "I hope you know I love you."

Merlin turned a very delicate shade of pink, and pulled him close again. "Yes," he said softly, "I know, and I love you too."

They kissed once more, soft and sweet.

/

It was, rather befittingly for a funeral, pouring absolute buckets of water. Uther was safe and dry inside with Gaius, but the rest of the castle had reluctantly donned thick, oiled cloaks in an attempt to keep out the rain. The funeral procession, such as it was, consisted of two lines following behind the four stretchers that bore the bodies, Griflet and Kestrel leading the way down the steep mountain side towards the entrance to the catacombs. It was a long, treacherous walk, and every so often rocks would slip underfoot, but they reached the catacombs without much incident. Aden was entombed in one that had been specially prepared for him, the Dogs all in a separate cavern, Morris the closest to Aden. Merlin walked in, whispered good-byes to all of them, and cried all the way back out.

Gwaine held him all the way.

/

They were in the stables the following day, packing up and saddling the horses (Uther desperately wanted to get out and away) when Gwaine heard Griflet call his name. Turning from where he was saddling Percival's massive warhorse, he was surprised to see Griflet carrying a very sword-shaped object toward him. It was wrapped in thick canvas and tied with strips of leather- most things were tied like that in the north.

"Can I help you, my lord?" He asked warily. He wasn't sure if the power the young man had been newly invested with would have gone to his head or not. Considering that Griflet flinched, he decided not.

"Please, don't call me that," the man said wearily. "I came to give this to you. I've been working on cleaning out some of the things in my father's rooms and… and I found this. I thought you might want it." A ghost of a smile managed to grace his face. "Consider it a wedding present of sorts. I'm certainly not going to do anything with it."

He thrust the sword out, and Gwaine took it, very aware that he was blushing at the idea of being married to Merlin. "Thanks," he said, smiling at the man. His smile faded. "Have you found Jaspar?" The manservant had been missing since the feast.

Judging by the grim set of Griflet's jaw, he thought it was safe to assume that yes, they had found him.

"Yes," Griflet confirmed, his voice a mixture of grim unhappiness and pity. "He was in the torture chamber- killed himself. A hanging."

Gwaine shuddered. "Poor thing."

Griflet nodded, eyes shadowed. "There has been far too much death in these past few days."

/

The day they said good-bye, Griflet climbed to the top of the parapets, and waved until they were out of sight, the procession working their way down the road. Sighing, he dropped his arms and leaned on one of the reassuringly strong stones. Kestrel, beside him, nudged him in the side and gestured with his chin toward the keep. Griflet turned, and as he watched a flag go up, his heart chilled. It was red, with a thick black border, and a gold dragon rampant on it. His flag. His crest. The symbol of the commander of the fief.

"Hail," Kestrel said dryly, "Lord Griflet, Border Lord-Commander of Wyvern's Reach."

"Heaven help us all," he replied just as dryly, trying to shake off some of the fear he felt. He had a pair of very large shoes to fill.

Kestrel grinned, elbowing him. "Come on, you'll be fine."

"Let's hope."

/

When they returned to Camelot, Merlin found himself wandering the streets of the Lower Town, following shaky directions issued by one of the maids who had met Dom. Dodging people, dogs, chickens, stray cats, and a few people on horseback -probably a few of the very lost, feather headed nobles that flocked to Camelot, seeking to gain the soon-to-be-king's favor – he wound down through the streets until he came across a small house. Knocking on the door, he took a deep breath, hoping the man was home.

"One moment," a voice called softly. It was feminine, but lower pitched- alto rather than soprano. The door swung open to reveal a very young woman, with enormous, doe brown eyes and loose brown hair that fell all the way to her waist unchecked. She was pretty in a simple, plain way, and good-will emanated from her with a terrifying force. She smiled, showing surprisingly good teeth. "Hello. How can I help you?"

"Hi," he said awkwardly. "Is this the home of Dom?"

She beamed at him. "Yes! He's my husband. My name is Mira."

_Oh my._

Merlin smiled shakily back. "Is he home?"

"Yes- who should I say is here?"

"Merlin. I work at the palace."

Her smile vanished and she looked at him sympathetically. "Ohhh, Arthur's manservant, isn't it?"

He nodded, and she let him in, calling for Dom at the same time. The older man appeared from a side chamber, pausing in surprise when he saw Merlin. "Merlin? What're you doing here?"

Merlin's throat tightened. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news," he said meekly. "Coriandan, Loren, and Morris-" he cleared his throat, and tried to finish his sentence, but couldn't say anything.

He didn't really need to. Dom simply nodded, and gestured at a chair. "Sit," he said simply, sounding very old. Taking one for himself, he took a deep breath, looked deep into Merlin's eyes and said calmly, "Please. How?"

Merlin told him. It was a long story, and by the time he finished his voice was a hoarse rasp, and the sun was setting behind the walls of the Lower City. Mira had come to sit beside her husband, their fingers intertwining at some point. Dom had never taken his eyes off of Merlin, though his thumb stroked the back of Mira's hand constantly.

"And that's it," Merlin finished, exhausted. His shoulders slumped.

Dom sighed gustily. "I knew it would happen at some point," he admitted quietly. "I just wasn't planning on now." Mira looked knowingly at her husband and stood. He smiled sadly. "If you'd-"

"Of course, my dear." Rising in a swish of fabrics, Mira swept from the room, looking as regal as a princess. Dom watched her go, and then looked back at him. Mira came back in, carrying a stack of papers and a small, self bound booklet.

"As you are now the sole survivor of the Dogs besides myself, I think you ought to have these."

Mira handed him the papers and booklet.

"What is it?"

Dom's smile dimmed again. "These are all of the suicide notes and wills left behind by the Dogs. Coriandan's and Loren's are there as well- any time they had to leave the city, they left them with me. The booklet was Morris's journal."

/

_Extracts from the journal of Morris, dated July 30-August 1, roughly 9 years previous_

…Assigned Work with Aden Chillingham, the Border Lord. Am very nervous. He is said to be Very Unkind to us, The Service. Uther thinks very Highly of him. Should All Else fail, I shall Seduce him.

…Was Beaten for Being Impolite. Have decided to begin Work on His Lordship, starting with his Sensibilities. He SHALL Crumble to my Intents.

…Could KILL myself for Such Stupidity. I am Afraid I may be In Love with His Lordship. Fear that Uther suspects.

/

_Extracts from the journal of Morris, dated July 24- 25, roughly 6 years previous_

…Aden has returned. I shouldn't have been surprised, he always comes every three years, but it worried me. I met him in the pear orchard, and may have enjoyed myself there a bit more than normal. I could kick myself for such stupidity- no good comes from bedding powerful nobles, particularly ones who like hitting or other fun torments. Coriandan is working for him right now. I am resisting my urge to be jealous. It is very difficult. I will go to bed with him tonight, I'm sure, despite my wish not to.

…I did sleep with him, and I can't say I regret it. I woke up early and slipped away before he woke. I feel horrible for wanting him. I feel guilty for enjoying it.

/

_Extracts from the journal of Morris, dated July 25, roughly 3 years previous_

…We met again, and I've given up. I let him have it, have everything. I'm sick of being nothing but Uther's pet.

…Had a fight with Aden today. It wasn't pretty. He called me a whore, I called him various other names not polite to put here. I have decided to hate him. Luckily he's leaving tomorrow.

/

Merlin closed the journal and stared out the window at the pear orchard, just barely visible from their rooms. Fall was beginning to make itself known about the country, a shade of a bite in the air where there had been one before, but Merlin couldn't bear to close the window when it was still so hot. Rising from his chair, he wandered over to the window, bracing his elbows on the sill and sighing. Gwaine, who'd been napping on the bed and roused by the noise, rolled over, and looked over at him. "Love? Something wrong?"

Merlin shook his head for a moment, trying to clear it. "It's nothing, really… just… I'm sad that none of the Dogs really got happy endings." Turning, he stretched and sauntered over to the bed. Flopping down, he rolled over and curled up next to Gwaine, inhaling his scent and feeling his warmth. "We got lucky."

"Very." Gwaine wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Merlin tipped his face up obediently, smiling into the kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They simply lay there for a while, then Merlin said softly, "Don't ever leave."

"I won't."

They both knew that, to an extent, it was a lie.

/

_Extract from a letter, written by Merlin of Camelot, Servant of Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon, to Lord Commander Griflet of Wyvern's Reach, Border Lord, dated October 24_

…Gwaine and the others have been sent off to war, once again. It seems that with power comes great need to travel, and a great many people who want to take control of that power. Arthur has already had four attempts on his life this month- thankfully, Sir Leon was on guard. The man is made of good luck, it seems, and so he was quite safe. I have been taking lessons in staff fighting, myself, and while I will never be as proficient as a soldier, I can sufficiently ward off the most basic of blows. Dom, one of the former servant's of King Uther, is teaching me. I am certainly better with the staff than with a sword. Arthur's been itching to go off and fight, but as the Regent, he can't. There's too much that needs fixing here to go off fighting every battle that shows up elsewhere.

In any case, I wished to send greetings to you, as well as some of the basic news. I believe that this fight should be over within two months, but with everything that's going on, that remains to be seen.

/

_Extract from a letter, written by Lord Commander Griflet of Wyvern's Reach, Border Lord, to Merlin of Camelot, Servant of Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon, dated October 30_

…I'm terribly sorry about Gwaine. I'm beginning to realize just what a burden fully running a castle is- the ideas of tactics, supply, and the basic squabbles I have to sort out on a daily basis are just about running me to the ground. I am, however, still riding out on patrol. I have to get away from my "children" every once in a while. The men still aren't totally confident with me yet, though, and I don't blame them. I'm as green as the grass in June, but thankfully the passes will be closing up soon. That tends to help keep down bandits.

Kestrel says to tell you hello, and that he will be returning with the Buregatin to his mother. The four who adopted you while you were here also tell you good-bye, and that they wish that you will meet in the stars one day. I hope you know what that means, because I have no idea.

/

_Extract from a letter, written by Sir Gwaine, Knight of the Round Table, to Merlin of Camelot, Servant of Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon, dated November 7_

…Missing you terribly, of course. The battle has been horrible- people getting wounded left and right, I swear. It doesn't seem like it should have dragged on this long, not without Arthur acting as general, but there's no help for that. He can't leave Uther. It's been bad though, Mer. I've been spending a lot of time in the healing tents, bandaging people up, that sort of thing. It makes me feel better about everything that's going on. I miss sleeping by you though- miss your noises, your smiles when you're asleep, the way you always kick me like you're trying to run, then turn around and bury your head against my chest. It's a physical ache.

The trees are beautiful here though, all decked out in their red and gold. One day, when this is done, I'll bring you here in the fall. You'd love it- it's positively magical here. One of the locals told me that they see unicorns here on occasion too.

I want to try and ride one.

/

_Extract from a letter, written by Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon, Ruler of Camelot, to Sir Gwaine, Knight of the Round Table, dated November 21_

…With regards to your position, please move in for the kill. I want this wrapped up as soon as possible.

Also, if you aren't done with this a week before Yuletide, you specifically are to come back to Camelot. If you make Merlin spend Yule alone I'll hunt you down myself.

/

_Letter, written by Sir Gwaine, Knight of the Round Table, to Prince Regent Arthur Pendragon, Ruler of Camelot, dated December 14_

You have your victory, and a treaty. We are headed home. Don't tell Merlin- let it be a surprise.


	13. Epilogue, or, Once Bitten Reprise

**And here we are, over 50,000 words later. The final chapter. After this are the recipes and some fun facts about a few of the characters.**

**I don't own Merlin.**

**/**

Snow fell in light, fluffy flakes, drowning Camelot in soundless white beauty. Outside, children were playing in the stuff, packing it together into balls, building forts, and generally having fun. Their parent's grumbled about the icy cold that winter would bring, but smiled as they watched their little ones having so much fun. Others wandered about, gathering firewood to last through the snowy months, and making preparations for the cold.

Merlin paid attention to none of this, as he was moping.

"Yes, moping," he informed the table miserably from where he was sitting on one of the over –stuffed armchair's he'd stolen from one of the other rooms. It was in the process of trying to move a tassel on the rug. The furniture had long since stopped hiding the fact that they moved, and quite regularly. "And do you know why I'm moping, Claude?"

The table (Claude, so named because of a particularly bland Dog whose suicide note had included notes on how to fix the chair he'd tipped over when he'd hung himself) shrugged. It clearly did not care.

Merlin continued anyway, ignoring a footstool that was nudging his leg. "Because Claude, Gwaine has been gone since October. OCTOBER, Claude! What if he stopped loving me?" The footstool rammed against his leg. Sighing, he picked it up. "Hush, Humphrey. I'm ranting."

The footstool calmed. It had also been named for a Dog, this one a particularly domineering one who had hated Morris with a vengeance. Covered in a very ugly green-gray fabric, it lived up to its stuffy name.

"In any case," Merlin continued, starting to pace around the room, still holding the foot stool and patting it absently, as if it were a lapdog, "He easily could have found someone who could replace me. Think about it- I'm sure there are plenty of lonely people on the battle lines, and he's plenty willing. Heavens help us, he _was_ practically a whore for how many years? It shouldn't bother me but it _does,_and- and- and-!" He sat down hard on the bed, gnawing on his lip, and not daring to say what he feared the most out loud. _What if he's dead? I haven't heard from him in weeks…_

Humphrey, finally picking up on the anxious vibes the man was giving out, cuddled against him, though how it was possible for the foot stool to do that, no one had quite figured out. Merlin squeezed it, and then set it gently on the floor. Standing back up, he prowled about the room, skirting around Claude to return to the as-yet unnamed chair. He was considering calling it Loren, in keeping with the Dog theme. Flopping back down on the chair, he let it carry him into the bathroom. The taps had already begun running, and steam was issuing from the top. Sighing, he began stripping off his clothes.

It was sad, when his own room knew what he needed before he did. Yes, a warm bath would certainly brighten his point of view on humanity. Even if it was the eve of Yuletide, and he was alone.

/

Arthur burst in as he was toweling his hair dry. "Merlin!"

Resisting the urge to flee, or at least set Humphrey on him, Merlin said tiredly, "Now what is it, Arthur?"

Arthur beamed at him, sitting down in the chair-that-was-almost-named-Loren. "It's a beautiful day for a ride-"

"Are you blind? It's becoming a blizzard out there!"

"-And I thought we could spend some time together! Wouldn't that be nice? You and me, just like old times?"

Merlin eyed him suspiciously. Arthur was practically _radiating_good intent. It was disturbing all the way down to the molecular level. "What are you up too?"

Arthur looked wounded. "Merlin! Must _everything_ have a motive?"

"With you, yes. What about Gwen? Aren't you two spending the holidays together?"

"Gwen and Elyan wanted some time together." Arthur bounced to his feet. "If nothing else, we can go play chess and I can beat you for the tenth time running."

Merlin drew himself up to his full height and glared just as regally as Uther himself. "I don't think so. _I_will win this time around."

Stalking out the door, he completely missed the smug grin on Arthur's face. Little did Merlin know that Gwaine had arrived earlier that day, and was skulking about the castle, waiting to prepare a surprise for him.

/

By the time he got back to his rooms, he was in a much better mood, having finally won a game of chess against Arthur. Whistling, he pushed open the door and froze.

Candles guttered around the room, sending everything into flickering shadows that should have made it unnerving, but instead lent a certain romance to the room.

One was being lit just as he stepped inside, the wick catching as he closed the door, his heart pounding as he saw the man who held the other candle that was being used to light it.

Gwaine smiled at him, the candles lighting his face. He simply stood there, already stripped down to simply his breeches, feet bare on the stone floor, brawny arms braced on the table. Silently, mouth dry, Merlin came forward, reaching up to gently touch his face, stroking down his cheeks. They stayed completely silent, Merlin stepping even closer, lowering his head and dropping it onto Gwaine's shoulder, reaching up to clutch at his biceps. Gwaine leaned his head on Merlin's, sighing with relief and reaching up to do the same.

Merlin couldn't have told anyone how long they just stayed like that. It was more intimate than any kiss, more heart wrenching than any confession of love, more relieving than any letter of confirmation, and he wished it would never end. Just having the faint musk of Gwaine's skin was a heady rush, and his warmth made up for every cold night he'd spent alone, and he knew without a doubt that every fear had been in vain. Gwaine still loved him, he was alive, and he was here.

"I love you," he whispered finally, and Gwaine reached up, cupping his face, and kissed him with such tender passion he could have cried, and if one or two tears leaked out, no one cared.

"I love you too." He paused, and then smiled slightly wickedly. "Happy Yuletide."

And then it was all scrambling hands and whispers of love, and Merlin's knees hit the edge of the bed, and he couldn't have been more ecstatic that they had waited for this, because now was _right_.

/

For the first time in 3 months, Merlin woke up in Gwaine's very tightly wrapped arms. Closing his eyes once again, he felt the smile that stretched his face enough to split it in half.

_Home. Alive. Thank heavens._

Soft lips pressed against a very large bruise mark where his neck and shoulder met. "Pence for your thoughts, my love?"

Merlin rolled over, wincing slightly, and kissed him, soft and slow and tender. The blankets were a tangled, horrible mess, and all of Merlin's clothes were in a pile on the floor, but he was warm, and Gwaine was here, whole, and warm. That made up for everything- that, and the fact that last night he'd explored every inch of his body, and Gwaine had done the same to him. No more secrets would be had between them, it seemed, and he couldn't be happier about it.

"I want to wake up like this for the rest of my life," he said softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Gwaine's ear. The man smiled softly, kissing his forehead.

"If I have a say, you will."

Merlin smiled at him with sleepy contentment.

"By the way… Happy Yuletide."

/

_Once bitten, always marked._

/

**That's all folks. It's been fun.**

**Yours,**

**HM**


	14. The Feast and The Facts

**And here you have it- the recipes for the feast in chapter 11. Should you choose, I would love to hear what you thought of them. Most of them came from the Taste of Home cookbooks. Enjoy. Fun facts are at the bottom.**

**/**

**Venison Stew ****(Note: For those of you who live in cities, you can normally find venison in specialty stores. Those of you who live in the middle of nowhere, good luck. For more information about Dutch Ovens, look up Lodge Dutch Oven company. This can also be made in other types of pans. Feel free to experiment.)**

**Ingredients**

2 tablespoons _canola oil_

2 pounds _venison stew meat_

_3 large onions, coarsely chopped_

_2 garlic cloves, crushed_

1 tablespoon _Worcestershire sauce_

_1 bay leaf_

1 teaspoon _dried oregano_

1 tablespoon _salt_

1 teaspoon _pepper_

3 cups _water_

_7 potatoes, peeled and quartered_

1 pound _carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces_

1/4 cup _all-purpose flour_

1/4 cup _cold water_

_Bottled browning sauce, optional_

**Directions**

Heat oil in a Dutch oven. Brown meat. Add onions, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, bay leaf, oregano, salt, pepper and water. Simmer, covered, 1-1/2 to 2 hours or until meat is tender.

Add potatoes and carrots. Continue to cook until vegetables are tender, about 30-45 minutes.

Mix flour and cold water; stir into stew. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Add browning sauce if desired. Remove bay leaf.** Yield: **8-10 servings.

* * *

******Rosemary Romano Bread (Note: Okay, they wouldn't necessarily have had French bread, but work with me here. This is a very tasty and easy party food, by the way.)**

**Ingredients**

1/2 cup _butter, cubed_

1/2 cup _grated Romano cheese_

_1 garlic clove, minced_

1 teaspoon _minced fresh rosemary_

1 loaf _(1 pound) French bread, halved lengthwise_

**Directions**

In a microwave, melt butter. Stir in the Romano cheese, garlic and rosemary. Spread over cut side of bread.

Place cut side up on an ungreased baking sheet. Bake at 400° for 15 minutes or until lightly browned. Slice and serve warm.** Yield: **14-16 servings.

* * *

******Leg of Lamb (Note: A very tasty and relatively easy to make dish. Very good for family reunions, and holidays.) **

**Ingredients**

_1/2 leg of lamb (3 to 4 pounds)_

_5 garlic cloves, minced_

1 teaspoon _salt_

1 teaspoon _pepper_

1/4 teaspoon _ground thyme_

1/4 teaspoon _garlic powder_

1/4 cup _all-purpose flour_

**Directions**

Cut five slits in the meat; insert garlic. Combine salt, pepper, thyme and garlic powder; rub over meat. Place on a rack in a roasting pan. Broil 5-6 in. from the heat until browned; turn and brown the other side. Turn oven to 350°. Add 1/2 cup water to pan. Cover and bake for 25 minutes per pound or until internal temperature reaches 160° for medium or 170° for well-done. Remove to carving board and keep warm. Pour pan drippings into a large measuring cup, scraping brown bits. Skim fat; reserving 1/4 cup in a saucepan; add flour. Add water to drippings to equals 2 cups; add all at once to flour mixture. Bring to a boil; cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir 1-2 minutes more. Slice lamb and serve with gravy.** Yield: **6-8 servings.

* * *

******Pheasant and Wild Rice (Note: Rice was not grown in England in the Middle Ages, as far as I can tell. Pardon the incompleteness. You can remove the rice for authenticity if you want. As I don't like mushrooms, I take those out of mine- this is a very forgiving recipe.)**

**Ingredients**

1 can _(10-3/4 ounces) condensed cream of mushroom soup, undiluted_

2-2/3 cups _water_

3/4 cup _chopped onion_

2-1/2 teaspoons _dried parsley flakes_

2 teaspoons _salt_

2 teaspoons _garlic powder_

2 teaspoons _dried oregano_

1-1/2 teaspoons _paprika_

1 teaspoon _pepper_

_6 bacon strips, cut up_

1 tablespoon _all-purpose flour_

_1 large oven roasting bag_

2 cups _uncooked wild rice_

1/2 pound _sliced fresh mushrooms_

_1 large pheasant, halved or two small pheasants (about 4 pounds)_

**Directions**

In a large saucepan, combine first nine ingredients; bring to a boil.

Meanwhile, place flour in oven bag; shake to coat. Place oven bag in a 13-in. x 9-in. baking pan; add the bacon. Sprinkle rice and mushrooms over bacon. Add pheasant. Pour soup mixture into bag.

Cut six 1/2-in. slits in top of bag; close bag with tie provided. Bake at 350° for 1 to 1-1/2 hours or until a meat thermometer reads 180°. Let stand for 10 minutes before carving.** Yield: **6-8 servings.

* * *

**Spinach Greens (Note: Spinach, when not cooked, is wonderful. Give it a try. It's like softer lettuce.)**

**Ingredients**

4 bacon strips

12 cups torn fresh spinach or beet greens

1 tablespoon sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

Directions

In a large skillet, cook the bacon until crisp; remove to a paper towel to drain. Add greens to drippings; cook, stirring constantly, just until wilted. Stir in the sugar and salt. Crumble bacon and stir into greens. Serve immediately.

* * *

**Fresh Pear Cake**** (Note: Should you want to use less oil, substitute part with applesauce.)**

Ingredients

3 eggs

2 cups sugar

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 1/2 cups pears - peeled, cored and chopped

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar

2 tablespoons milk

Directions

In a mixing bowl, beat eggs on medium speed. Gradually add sugar and oil; beat thoroughly. Combine flour, cinnamon, salt and baking soda; add to egg mixture and mix well. Stir in pears and vanilla. (The batter will be stiff.) Spoon into a greased and floured 10-in. tube pan. Bake at 350 degrees F for 60-65 minutes or until cake test done. Let cool in pan 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate.

In a small bowl, combine the confectioners' sugar and milk; beat until smooth. Drizzle over warm cake. Cool completely.

* * *

**(Relatively) Fun facts:**

Galatine: Galatine is actually a sister sword to Excaliber, a fact I left out as my Galatine is considerably older than the one in legends.

/

Griflet of Wyvern's Aerie and Kendral Fief (later known as Wyvern's Reach): Griflet was borrowed from Arthurian legend just as all the other knights are. In the truest Arthurian sense, I took the original idea, warped it, twisted it, and flung it out the window, keeping the basics and putting together a new version on a far different framework. (In short, all Arthurian authors are glorified fanfiction writers.) I wanted a knight that had really been involved with the person King Arthur becomes, and so he became. The first I met Griflet was in Gerald Morris's _The Squire's Tales_, in which he seems to be a rather pompous and self absorbed knight. Possibly one of my favorite not-exactly-OC's, Griflet is a very warped person, but he turns out all right in the end. We may see more of him again.

/

Kestrel, _porvan-torn_ of the Buregatin: TOTALLY FICTIONAL. He's not inspired by any knights, and if there's a Sir Kestrel hiding in Le Morte d'Arthur, I'm terribly sorry. Kestrel's a curious creation, having started out as another slave in Kendral with a very minor role. However, that didn't last, and he quickly shoved his way in. The Buregatin are a fictional group as well, inspired by German, Native American, Indian, Italian, and Japanese influences.

/

Lord Aden Chillingham of Kendral Fief: Named for Chillingsworth of Nathaniel Hawthorne's _The Scarlet Letter. _The name Aden comes from Oden, who was one of the great Norse Gods. His name is also a tribute to the fabulous Ultra Geek's Lord Alcott, who inspired this story.

/

Morris: Named for the famous Morris dance of England (and surrounding environs). He was inspired by a guy I saw in ONE EPISODE and can't find again who was helping Uther put on a jacket. If anyone knows which episode this is, please tell me, because it's driving me up a wall.

/

**And that's it- the grand finale. Do tell me if you have any questions about the story- leave them in a review, I shall reply.**

**Yours,**

**HM**


End file.
